Forever and Ever Amen
by Patricia Mitnacht
Summary: Blood Ties/Moonlight. Beth has been kidnapped by a vengeful vampire, and Mick teams up with a re-united Vicki and Henry to rescue her. In the process they learn much about each other and find far more than they bargained for—including their destinies.
1. The New Client

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and/or plots are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 1: The New Client

Vicki sat with feet propped up on her desk, notebook computer on her lap, and didn't look up when Coreen bustled into the room without knocking. "Here's the mail. Three more bills and five new catalogs. And a new client is waiting outside."

"You know I could be doing something important in here."

"The way things have been around here lately? Nah." Vicki finally extricated her attention from the first game of solitaire she might win all day. Her attempt at formulating a comeback was forestalled however. Coreen held up a small white bag. "Dinner."

"What? Is it that time again?" She glanced out the window. Brilliant afternoon winter sunlight still streamed through the world out there. A beautiful day actually. Heartbreakingly beautiful, she thought.

"Not yet, but this will keep," said the petite girl. Vicki pushed her glasses up higher on her nose and narrowed her eyes. Something was definitely wrong about Coreen. No garish makeup. No bare-all-you-dare black leather and chains. Just warm, sporty cold-weather attire that looked too colorful for the goth. Her hair, dyed a lovely chocolate brown, was neatly pulled up in a saucy pony tail.

"Are...are you going somewhere?"

"Jeff's family invited me to join them for the weekend at their condo at Blue Mountain. He's going to teach me how to ski." Coreen positively bubbled. The grin was ear-to-ear.

"Ski? Jeff?"

"The guy I met two weeks ago at the mall of all places?"

Vicki remembered nothing of the sort, but that was not unusual these days. She blinked, dumbfounded.

"Do you mind if I skip out a little early today? They want to get a head start on leaving town."

That meant it must be Friday. Vicki wondered if she'd have any sense of time at all if not for Coreen. "But...but it's..."

"Three thirty in the afternoon, yes, I know. But it's not like you'll need me here." Realizing what she had said a moment later, Coreen had the good sense to look contrite. There had not been any new cases in three weeks, and Vickie was making lackluster progress on the two she still had. She simply couldn't get into them. She couldn't subvert her mind with work as she had hoped. It refused.

Vicki sighed and became aware of the aroma of Chinese food wafting out of the bag Coreen had placed on her desk. She hadn't eaten since last night but felt far from tantalized by the prospect. If anything, the smell made her sad; too many memories came with it.

"All right, all right. Go on. Have a good time."

Coreen practically vibrated with excitement. _Oh my God_, Vicki thought. _She's in love! She gets possessed by a demon, literally looses her heart, gets awakened from the dead, and then goes and falls in love—with a normal guy apparently!_ Or at least a guy with a family that liked to go skiing. It boggled the mind. And for a moment, just one very ugly moment, Vicki hated her assistant. Completely.

"Did you hear me, Vicki?"

"Hmm?"

"I said thank you and I think you'll be OK talking to the guy. He looks, you know...ordinary. Well, no, not ordinary. Kinda cute actually. You know what I mean. Ordinary."

"What guy?"

She gestured over her shoulder. "The guy waiting to see you."

"Oh. Ordinary, eh? OK. Whatever. Go enjoy yourself. I want to hear all about it when you get back," she added, already dreading the day.

Coreen bounced out of the office. Vicki listened to her tell someone that they could go in now. She made no effort to straighten her desk or her posture. She was the slouching captain of a listing ship of papers. With any luck the potential new client would take one look and leave her to her solitaire.

Ordinary, in the parlance of Viki Nelson Investigations, meant anything mortal. The guy easing into her office presently appeared to fit that criteria, though she knew well that those first impressions could be deceiving. He was tall, as tall as Mike, she thought before she could stop herself. His face was an intriguing mixture of boyish charm and rugged handsomeness. His brown hair sparked golden highlights in the sun the way Henry's did in firelight...

Vicki clamped her jaw tight. God was she ever still a mess. It had been a full month for crying out loud. When was she going to stop seeing echoes of them everywhere?

The stranger standing in her office looked around and made note of the only other chair in the room which was occupied by a tilting stack of books on the occult. In response to her lost-in-thought stare he broke into a smile that nearly unhinged her. Dazzling. Like Henry. She closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Your assistant said I could..."

"Yeah. Right." Vicki shook her head to clear it. "Just clear off that chair and have a seat, Mr...?"

"St. John. Mick St. John." He extended his hand. Firm, cool grip. No gloves.

"What brings you to my door then, Mr. St. John?"

"Call me Mick, please." He moved the whole stack of books to the floor with one fluid motion. "And I really need your help," he added, growing serious.

Vicki troubled herself to get her feet off her desk and look like she was interested in whatever trivial nonsense was about to be presented. "I'm a private investigator in LA. A case I've been working dead ends up here, and I need a contact with...specialized skills."

"LA? Sorry about that. Winters up here are a bitch."

"No, actually I like the cold. It's been very refreshing."

_Yeah. Freezes the mind._ She closed the lid on the laptop, safely suspending the game of solitaire. "What kind of specialized skills?"

He reached into his overcoat and produced a newspaper clipping.

"Oh man, is that ad still running?" she said, taking the paper from him. "Vicki Nelson Investigations. No case too strange." It had been Coreen's idea to drum up business and it certainly had!

"Not true?"

OK, he was starting to annoy her. He was entirely too nice. She wasn't in the mood to deal with nice people. She wanted to fight. Or, in lieu of that, send them running in horror if at all possible. "Oh it's true all right. Demons, zombies, incubuses, mummies, witches, ghosts and goblins. We have done it all. We are the experts." She showed him her wrists and the pentacle tattoos edged there. "I am your first line of communication to hell. In fact," she added, lowering her voice and leaning across the desk conspiratorially, "I'm on a first name basis with the devil himself."

Mick stared at her as though she had taken leave of her senses. "I don't know," he finally conceded. "Maybe my case really is too strange for you."

Vicki blinked. "You're kidding!"

"You said nothing about vampires."

"Oh that." Damn. Of all the things to bring up. "They really haven't been much of a problem here."

"Oh?"

"Most people don't know this, but vampires are a tad territorial. One per city or something like that. The one that was here was my partner, so no problems with him. And I don't know if another one has moved in. Nor do I care, actually. But that's another story."

"I had no idea," said Mick, deadpan. "_Was_ here?"

"Yeah. He left."

"Left?"

"Yeah, I don't know. Something silly about moving on. Broken heart." She waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever."

Mick tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he studied her. Was he sniffing at the air?

"Chinese," she said, grabbing the bag. "Want it? I'm not hungry."

"No thanks." Pause. "So you have no idea where he is?"

Vicki barely resisted throwing the takeout bag at him. What was his obsession with Henry?!

"No. Why? Do you need a vampire for something?"

"I'm looking for a vampire. It usually takes one to know one."

No, not as "ordinary" as he looked. "Why don't you tell me about your case, Mr. St. John."

Reaching back into his coat, this time he produced a 4 by 6 photograph of a very beautiful young woman with brilliant blue eyes and thick, bright blond hair. She had California written all over her. "She was abducted five days ago in LA by a female vampire named Cynthia Xavier Davis. My contacts and I followed every lead as far as we could and finally ended up in Toronto. But I have no contacts here nor do I seem to be able to find any."

"You found me."

He flashed her an indulgent smile. "Yes, but you're human. It's vampire contacts I need."

Vicki put the picture down. "You have absolutely no idea what you're dealing with, do you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Have you ever even met a vampire?"

"A few," he said dryly.

"Oh really? Well, then you know that not only are they rare, they also don't like to share. They kill each other on sight. Believe me, no one I know has dealt with more occult weirdness than I have, and I have really only met one vampire. Two others passing through here were either killed or banished by the first."

Mick said nothing, merely arching a brow at her.

"And why would a vampire abduct this girl and drag her to Canada? That's not the love 'em and leave 'em policy I've come to know."

"This vampire wants to hurt someone."

"Your client?" A nod. "And if she, a vampire, can't hurt him directly, that means she can't because..." Vicki's brain kicked into sluggish gear for the first time in weeks. "...because he's also a vampire. A strong vampire? And so...she took his presumably human...lover?"

"In very general terms. Something like that. Yes."

"Wow. I'm glad our vampires are nothing like that." Well, they could be, of course. She remembered all too vividly her run-in with Christina when that one tried to get at Henry through her. But that scenario was unlikely at best when the vampires could hardly stand to be in the same city together, never mind the same room…. Her mind drifted off track quickly as it did often these days. A vampire looking for his human lover? She glanced at the photograph smiling up from the desk. So this girl had made that decision, had she? And now she was paying for it... Or not.

"An interesting case you have there, Mick. Or it would be. If it were real."

"Excuse me?"

"Come on! You really expect me to believe that a vampire would hire a human private investigator to track down his human girlfriend?"

"No. Actually I wouldn't."

What was he trying to tell her? She looked out the window for a long moment. The afternoon shadows came early this time of year, but still the day was crisp and bright. She sighed. She had had the occasional wise ass come through here, lured by that damnable ad, trying to see how much weirdness she would spout. She was usually much better at spotting them and showing them the door, but this guy was good. Or charming at least. And he reminded her of Henry. Just a little. And he spoke of vampires. He couldn't know it, of course, but she was all too easy prey for him. Well, no more.

"OK, we're done here. Joke's over."

"What are you talking about?"

"Fun's over, sweetie. Your story doesn't hold water. See that out there? It's called daylight. Vamps don't go walking around in that. Kills them, you see. It's a basic staple of every vamp legend but I'm here to tell you that it's also true." She pushed the picture back toward him and leaned across her desk, hands folded. "If you're going to insinuate that you are a vampire, please at least make an effort to keep your facts straight."

Mick took the picture of the pretty blond back into his coat. "I really don't have time for this. She is human, and she is in mortal danger. Are you going to help me or not?"

"Boy you're a real hard ass aren't you?"

Mick stood up, towered over her desk with a graceful, almost feline quality. "Just how much of a jerk do you need me to be?" he growled. And it was a true growl, inhuman, chilling her blood. Vicki's breath caught as she looked up into the handsome face that had gone unnaturally pale all of a sudden. The eyes glittered green and bright and between his lips... He leaned forward with such speed she felt as though she was watching a movie with frames missing, now here, now there, just like that. Like Henry. Those eyes bored into hers from inches away. "How about a drink?"

Vicki put up a hand and swallowed hard. "That...won't be necessary."

As suddenly as the transformation had occurred so it now undid itself. Again he sat there, nonchalant, almost smirking. "That's too bad. I haven't had one in a while." It all had happened so quickly, she might well have doubted that it happened at all if she hadn't seen Henry do it a dozen times. He gave her several long moments to recover.

"OK," she finally ventured. "You've made your point. But how are you doing this? In daylight?"

"I'd prefer not to. The sun takes its toll on me, believe me, but time is of the essence. Will you help me?"

He was putting himself in danger to find this human girl. In spite of herself, Vicki felt something deep within her flicker back to life with an almost palatable snap. How many times had Henry risked his immortality for her, and how many times had she risked her life for him?

"What's her name?"

"Beth Turner."

"Your girlfriend?"

"It's…complicated."

"Isn't it always." Not really so complicated, she decided. Like the others of his ilk she had known, this one wore his heartbreak on his face for all to see. Whatever their story, it was no less powerful than hers and Henry's had been. But, clearly, it was ending differently. This one wasn't running away.

Vicki took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes as though they ached. She suspected that the ruse wasn't lost on him, but he permitted her the illusion of success at least. "I want to help you, Mick," she said finally. "But I can't."

"Why not?"

"I don't..." She cleared her throat, started again. "I can't call upon the one vampire I know to help me find yours. I don't know where he is."

"Not at all?"

"Well. Vancouver, I think."

Mick's eyes narrowed in thought. "And he is territorial?"

"Oh. Very."

"I'll make you a deal then. I find him and you convince him to help me find mine."

The answer flew from Vicki's heart before her mind even had a chance to grasp the implications. "Deal." She took his offered hand across the Chinese takeout and the suspended laptop. "Yes. It's a deal."


	2. Appetites

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 2: Appetites

Night found Mick and Vicki ensconced in the dark recesses of the Hogtown Bar and Grill at Toronto Pearson Airport. With two astronomically priced Air Canada tickets secured—one of them first class—boarding passes in pockets, security navigated without incident and no luggage to check or carry, Vicki Nelson was ready to eat and eat well.

So was Mick. "Make that two," he said when the waitress turned her attention to him.

"You got it, hon," she confirmed with a sly wink. "Two double burgers with fries, the works. Anything to drink?"

"Whatever you've got on tap is fine."

"You have _got_ to be kidding," Vicki declared with the waitress barely out of earshot. "Sunlight? And you _eat_ too?"

Mick desperately hoped so. The teaming masses of humanity—or "moving feast" as Joseph would have called it—streaming past just beyond the restaurant doors were becoming by far too tempting. "We don't have time to find a blood bank."

"A blood bank."

"My usual provider."

"You mean you never...?"

"No, I didn't say that. It's just a moral choice I've made." Mick removed his sunglasses and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Before she could pursue the matter further, he switched gears. "Four hundred and eighty years is it?"

"What? Oh. Yes. Henry. You?"

"Older than I look," he allowed.

The drinks arrived, hot tea for Vicki, a foaming glass of beer for Mick. He took three deep swallows and mentally followed them down into his gut. He had always been able to drink and even get a buzz if he drank enough, but for this past glorious week he had managed to get downright drunk on a fraction of what it usually took. But deny it all he might, that happy state of affairs was coming to a close. He downed half the glass.

Vicki watched him over the rim of her cup. "Don't think I could imagine Henry ever doing anything like that. Or the blood bank for that matter." Mick waited. Waited for the buzz to kick in. Waited for her to continue. She was pretty, he thought. Whip thin, haggard even and stressed, but pretty. Long, straight, light brown hair framed her face and shoulders. Very little make up. She didn't need it. Her skin was pure and smooth. The square spectacles on her nose framed expressive gray eyes like stormy works of art. The spirit dwelling there spoke eloquently of sorrow and loss and silent, angry challenges to the world. Do not cross me. Do not touch me. Do not love me.

A vampire who could not tolerate the light of day had uprooted himself and moved across a continent on account of this woman. Of this Mick was certain by now. That broken heart she had so flippantly remarked upon earlier was not just Henry's. It was hers as well.

The hoped-for buzz was slow in coming. Mick emptied the glass. "Tell me more about him. If he will want to kill me first and ask questions later as you say he will, I need to know what I'm up against."

"I won't let you harm him."

"I need him. Why would I harm him?" Not that he likely could. At nearly five centuries, this other vampire was bound to be exceedingly powerful. Chances were good that if anyone got killed, it would be Mick. But as he saw it, that was an acceptable price for Beth's life.

Vicki put her cup down. "Well. Henry is…Henry Fitzroy, first Duke of Richmond and Somerset. A bastard son of King Henry VIII. And, yes, before you ask, he is more than a little full of himself."

"Sounds charming."

"He can be." She smiled wistfully. "He's an expert in everything from politics to magic, but he earns his keep writing graphic novels. Dark stuff. Not really my speed. Oh, and he plays with his food." Another sip from the steaming cup.

Mick arched a brow. "Play?"

"Yeah," was all she said.

Mick thought better of asking for clarification, morbidly fascinated though he was. Feeding habits had nothing to do with what he was looking for. "What do I really need to know about him other than the strict no sunlight rule? What do I have to watch out for?"

Vicki fiddled with her tea bag for a moment, opened her mouth then closed it again, sighed. "Look Mick. I'm going to be there. I'll talk to him. I won't let anything happen to you either."

He let out a small exasperated breath, not sure whether to be annoyed or entertained by this sad little slip of a human. But if nothing else he had to admit a grudging admiration for her stubbornness and loyalty. Revealing a vampire's vulnerabilities to someone who could abuse that knowledge was a grave betrayal. Vicki was no more going to share those than he was about to divulge his own reaction to silver or, for that matter, his current compromised state.

He scented the air softly and regretted it the same instant. The aroma of life and blood hung rich and heavy, and the need to drown in it suddenly threatened to engulf him. He fought it down. For a moment the hunger nearly had him, though, and a small, tight sound escaped him.

"Are you all right?"

"Just...hungry is all."

"Well good thing that dinner's here then."

The waitress came striding toward them balancing two large plates heaped with food. But that wasn't what held Mick's immediate attention. He watched her rosy pale wrist come and go before him as it deposited the plate. Her heart whispered to him like a distant drum.

Vicki dug in as though she hadn't seen food in days and wasn't expecting to see any more in just as long. Mick studied what was possibly his own last solid meal in forever. It wasn't what his body craved, that was painfully clear from the first bite, but neither was it rejected outright as he had feared. To Vicki's unconcealed amazement, he managed to gnaw his way through half the meal before giving up on the attempt. At least that other hunger was back in the cage where it belonged.

To Mick's own amazement, Vicki finished the rest of his meal too.

Some four hours later Mick sat with his forehead pressed to the cold, small pane of a jetliner's window, staring unseeing into the fathomless night beyond.

_I'm coming, Beth. I'm coming._

He couldn't have explained why, but on some level he knew that she heard him wherever she was. The connection between them, forged decades in the past, was stronger now than ever. In his mind's eye the events of the last week began to reel past in vivid color. There was the uncertainty and hope of Coraline and the compound she shared with him. The heady thrill of learning the history of the bloodline into which she had baptized him all those years ago followed by the fear and helplessness of being at the mercy of her brother who had surfaced from the darkest corners of time with a vengeful agenda all his own. And then the bittersweet memory of Coraline, who he was certain had never done a selfless thing in all her centuries, sacrificing herself for him. The surge of love and awe and terror he had felt at that moment was unmatched in all their violent history together. For a long time after they had gone, Mick had lain bleeding and sobbing, alone, in the street.

But, oh, the unspeakable euphoria of rediscovering his own humanity! He had been drunk with it, delirious beyond all reason. He called every restaurant in the area that delivered at that time of night and ordered half the menu. Mick had started eating the moment the food arrived, kept eating while the next batch came in, ate while he paid, and sent the delivery boys off with great good cheer around the mouthful of whatever he was eating. He ate until his apartment resembled a dumpster and he felt more than a little green. But he was happy.

Or he had thought he was. The next two days had truly been the happiest of his eighty-five years, bar none. He had spent them with Beth. That first day was the day of Josh's funeral, of course, but even through her grief she saw the pure joy in him at being human again and, he thought hopefully, perhaps had found it within herself to forgive him for not turning Josh as she had begged him to. After the service they had walked and talked for a long time and rounded out the day with a steak dinner. Mick wasn't sure which was a greater treat for him: the meal or Beth's company. Put together, the evening was perfection. She had appeared at his door the following morning before dawn with two venti lattes and a bag full of gourmet pastries. Together they had greeted the sunrise from the roof of his building, stuffing themselves with sticky sweets and steaming caffeine. Mick and Beth had been inseparable that day, getting to know each other truly for the first time without the impenetrable wall of eternity between them. They helped each other explore the tides of life and death that had rocked their worlds. They helped each other heal.

That day Mick had learned what it was to truly love someone. It wasn't the all-consuming obsession he had shared with Coraline. It was this...this quiet wholeness.

Midnight found them dozing on Mick's sofa, the closest thing he had to a bed. Cuddling was all she was up for and that was perfectly all right by him. So very wonderful just to feel her warmth against him, to know that she felt his in return, to smell her hair and touch her face as she slept, at peace. He should never have opened the door, especially without checking the monitor to see who it was, but the knocking had been insistent. Groggy, he had relied on vampire senses he no longer had. Not only had he not scented her, he also had no defense against her. Cynthia Davis had lost Coraline, her closest friend and companion for over a hundred years, she blamed Mick, and she made no secret of her intend to hurt him as he had hurt her by taking from him what he held most dear. A solid blow to the head rendered him helpless. He could only watch, gasping, as Cynthia easily subdued Beth and bundled her out into the night. That last instant their eyes met haunted his every waking moment. He had never seen her so terrified.

_I'm coming Beth. Hold on. I'm coming._

By the time he had reached Joseph and activated his vampire network of assistants and informants it was too late. There was no trace of Cynthia. They cast their net wider and eventually happened upon a lead in New York that pointed to Toronto. But that's where it ended. As far as anyone knew, there were no vampires in Toronto, so Mick had opted to go and see for himself. He needed others in this unknown environment to provide leads of where a vampire might hide there or where it might go from there or if it was in the company of an unwilling human. He found nothing of the sort. Searching for a local investigator to help him dig for leads on recent, mysterious goings on, he came across Vicki Nelson's ad. "No case too strange." Serendipity? Or the Universe's idea of a bad joke? He decided to hope for the former. He needed a break.

Mick opened his eyes. The drone of the airplane embraced his awareness. Deafening to human ears, the sound was maddening to his reviving vampire senses. This Henry Fitzroy fellow, as per Vicki, would not be caught alive on a plane. Well, they'd have to figure something out because he wasn't about to waste five days trucking across a continent on Henry's royal whim. It was clear that Henry would be unlike any vampire Mick had encountered before. What that meant in terms of having to deal with him, much less persuade him to help locate Cynthia and Beth, was anybody's guess. Mick had called Joseph before boarding but the only advice that one had was less than helpful. "Never heard of anything like that. You're on your own, Mick. Be careful."

_Well, this ought to be interesting,_ he thought and looked down at the spot on his left forearm where a soft pink scar had lived only this morning. Pale, flawless skin now. It was done then. The compound Coraline had administered there had worn off. _No longer human._ Unlike fifty-five years ago, Mick had mixed feelings about it this time around. He still desperately wanted to be human. But he also knew he would have no chance whatsoever of saving Beth if he wasn't completely vampire.

Vampire.

He looked out the window again. Only his reflection stared back from the inky blackness. Dawn was a long way off. By the time they landed in Vancouver it would still be barely midnight local time and still early enough to find Henry Fitzroy. Mick thought he should probably rest up, but it was nighttime, the vampire was back, and he hadn't slept in days anyway.

He scented the air out of long-established habit. The combined life force of over three hundred beating hearts slammed into his brain._Shit!_

The woman next to him, a crumpled heap even frailer than Vicki, had nodded off over a magazine. She had proudly told him—the nice young man—her age, which was identical to Mick's. Her husband in the next seat over was wide awake, engrossed in a large-print paperback. Earlier Mick had surreptitiously studied them as he often did the elderly, seeing in them the life he would have had if not for Coraline.

Mick carefully stretched his head up above the seat backs and looked around. The plane was packed, every seat filled with a warm body struggling to find comfort in the cramped quarters. Many slept. Others read. A number had their standard issue earphones in place and stared at a movie with no name flickering across the screens. It was not the sort of environment in which one could easily sip unobserved, to say nothing of doing so without the sippee raising an alarm. Besides which…he was way past sipping.

But the hunger made mighty fine arguments. It's dark. Not dark enough. Many are sleeping. It takes only one to see. That woman looks like she's up for a bit of sport. I don't have time to be charming. There's one right next to you; just do it! Now!

Mick jerked his head away just as the husband glanced over. Thankfully, the book seemed more interesting than his neighbor's stretching exercises. Before he could think about it too long, Mick commenced easing himself past the couple, trying not to disturb the sleeping woman and flashing his trademark smiles of youthful and apologetic innocence at her other half.

The walk up to first class presented a whole new definition of hell, every step a cruel temptation in the form of an exposed throat or a dangling wrist. Having cornered the very last two seats on this flight, the seating arrangements were now far from convenient. "I've never done first class," Vicki had said. "Do you mind?"

Apparently first class was a protected territory. The moment he pushed through the dividing curtain, a flight attendant materialized out of the galley. A lovely young woman of color she was, and as she spoke all Mick could see was the vein in her long, graceful neck. She was getting more insistent. So was his hunger.

"It's OK. He's with me."

Mick snapped out of the moment. Vicki looked up at them from her extra wide leather seat.

The flight attendant backed down grudgingly.

Mick dropped to one knee in the aisle, his hand wrapping around the arm rest in something akin to a death grip. Vicki put her magazine aside, barely missing a half-empty glass of orange juice beside her. "Thanks for the ride, Mick. I'm loving first class. How's coach?"

"Crowded," he whispered. He was barely holding on to sanity at this point but could not think of a single solitary word to say to communicate this unspeakable need. As it turned out, he didn't have to.

"You don't look so good, Mick. Dinner not agreeing with you?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell me why you even tried that?"

"No. But I don't think I'll do it again," he added.

Vicki studied his face for a long moment.

Mick's gaze dropped to her hands, her wrists, folded across her lap.

She sighed heavily and got to her feet. "All right then. C'mon. I'm a sucker for starving puppies."

Dazed and mystified, Mick followed her to the front of the cabin, passing the Gestapo flight attendant along the way. The woman's eyes followed them suspiciously.

Vicki opened the door to a lavatory next to the cockpit door and slipped inside, pulling Mick after her. "You can't be serious," he said as she slid the lock in place behind him.

"You need to feed, and you're not doing it out there."

She was close to him, Very, very close. Her body was tiny, but not tiny enough for the two of them inside this unpleasantly scented lavatory. He felt the strength of her thighs and the heat of her torso and breath with painful intensity. She pushed her hair over one shoulder, pulled down the edge of her black turtleneck, and tilted her head to one side. "Blood bank's open," she murmured with resignation. "Let's get this over with."

Mick tore his gaze from the pulse she presented and caught sight of them both in the mirror. The delicate maiden and the monster. He closed his eyes, loathing himself. Blindly sliding his hand down her arm, he picked up her wrist. With a self-control that nearly felled him, he exposed the forearm and lifted it to his face, scenting her skin, her blood, her essence. She was a stranger. A stranger who needed him and was willing to pay any price. The feeling was mutual.

His teeth pierced her flesh without conscious thought. Blood filled his mouth with thick heat and his being with blinding euphoria. The vampire in him exploded back into existence. Distantly he realized that Vicki made not a sound and did not touch him. If anything, she pressed herself as flat as she could to get away from him. He didn't mind. He understood. The only person he had ever fed off with anything approaching genuine affection and gratitude had been Beth. He just as soon keep it that way.

_I'm coming, Beth. I'm coming. Hold on._

Eventually Vicki spoke. He heard her voice but not her words. The blood was all.

"STOP!"

With this command came a sharp smack to the back of his head. He looked up sharply, a growl in his blood-drenched throat. Her face was only inches from his, staring him down with palpable anger. "I said stop!" she hissed.

Reason slowly returned to Mick's addled brain and with it the old familiar disgust. The hunger ebbed. Composing himself, he tugged several paper towels from the dispenser and pressed them to the two small, oozing wounds in her arm. Bending sideways, he coaxed water from the tiny spigot and splashed his face with it. The pink liquid slurped away into the drain.

Vicki watched all this without comment before rinsing the excess blood from her arm, pressing a wad of fresh paper towels to the wound and wedging it in place under the sleeve of her sweater. Then she crossed her arms and fixed him with an accusing glare. "Your table manners suck."

"I'm sorry. I should have warned you. I thought you..."

"Had done this a dozen times before?"

"Well, yes. What else was I supposed to think? I can taste him in you."

"Henry at least knows when to quit."

Mick looked at her carefully. Her pallor was noticeable paler. That plus her already sunken cheeks rendered her looking more like the undead half of their duo than he did. "I am truly sorry, Vicki. I don't usually..."

"Yeah. Blood banks. You said. I think you need more practice on the real thing."

_Great. A human Joseph._

"At least you look like you might actually make it now," she relented, reaching to unlatch the door. It swung open to reveal the flight attendant lying in wait for them.

"I could have you two arrested," she announced.

"What for?" Vicki shot back.

"Sex in lavatories is right up there with tampering with smoke detectors."

"No, no, wait. We didn't...," Mick flustered.

"The smoke detector is fine," said Vicki and all but shoved him out ahead of her and down the aisle. "So deal with it, hon."

Several of the nearer passengers watched them pass with knowing smirks. While Vicki took no notice, Mick felt his cheeks flame with her blood. Back at her seat, the over-sized chair practically swallowed her whole. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Are you going to be all right, Vicki?"

"I think so. Just need to rest for a while."

He squeezed her arm in gentle gratitude. "Thank you. I owe you."

To his surprise she actually chuckled. "Big time, buster. Big time." Picking up the deserted glass of orange juice, she gulped it down. When it was gone, she thoughtfully rattled the two remaining ice cubes around the bottom. "Can you really taste him in me?"

"Yes." It had been hard to miss. Ancient blood always was.

Vicki leaned closer to him, conspiratorially. "Do you think I'm still human?"

"Yes. That you are." Reputably unable to share his life with another of his own kind, but risking turning the light of his life by feeding her his blood, Henry Fitzroy was either a blooming idiot or utterly besotted. Considering his age, Mick would have put money on the latter. "He must not have given you much."

"Oh he didn't give it to me. I took it." At his hit-over-the-head expression, Vicki broke into a tight smile. "I told you. I do business with the devil himself."

"You...stole...his blood." OK. He had lost his bet with himself. Blooming idiot it was.

"It was for his own good. Trust me."

Mick wasn't so sure that was a wise course of action anymore.

Vicki pressed the empty glass at him. "As you said, you owe me. You can start by getting me more orange juice. Make it a pitcher full."

_Stole the blood!_ Mick thought incredulously as he went. If he had wondered even for a second what would drive a vampire like Henry Fitzroy away from a bright, vibrant human female like Vicki Nelson, he wondered no more. The woman was whacked!

In the galley, the first thing Mick found was the ornery flight attendant. He nodded a bashful greeting and requested a carton of orange juice. Please. The woman looked him up and down dismissively before rousing herself to open the cooler cabinet and producing a box of Tropicana Low Pulp. Together with two cups, she handed it over without fanfare. Thanking her, Mick turned to go. Behind him he heard her grumble below her breath. "Stop means stop, you bastard."


	3. Bar None

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 3: Bar None

Henry was obsessing. He knew it. And he was powerless to stop it.

His drawing pen sketched relentlessly, rendering scene after scene of the tale unfolding in his mind, half fact half fiction, half memory half dream. The curve of an arm, the glint in an eye, a small fist like iron around the hilt of a sword. And over her shoulder...

He stopped. He stared.

What was providence trying to tell him? He pressed his elegant, long-fingered hands together in critical thought. She looked back at him in black and white as unflinching as she ever had in life. The drawn version of the woman carried aloft the mighty sword of a king just as the flesh and blood version had on several occasions—sometimes with disastrous consequences. He could still feel the place in his chest where she had run him through with it once in an insanely misguided attempt at saving his life. It had worked, of course, but the price had been staggering and—to him—unacceptable. But that was her logic. That was his Vicki. That was his Warrior Princess.

Obscured in shadows behind her, the figure of a young man had materialized out of his pen without conscious intent. He had a shock of thick hair falling across a striking face of long, slanting angles. Only one eye was visible, watching the image of the Warrior Princess with more than a hint of possessiveness.

Henry pushed away from his workbench and the unsettling drawing. Walking to the window, he stood for a long while, watching the glittering life of the city at night sprawl before him. A month he had been here, but even though he was physically settled, his soul was still far away. He missed Toronto. He missed the streets there, the atmosphere, the culture, the people. Closing his eyes, Henry relented to himself. Who was he kidding? Vancouver, Toronto, what did it matter? As often as he had moved over the centuries, he found it easy to make a new home for himself wherever he went. No, he didn't miss anything about Toronto except...except her.

He had really thought that by now he would have found enough new distractions to relegate the memory of her to a pleasant back corner of his mind. But no. She is all he thought about even when he was "playing with his food" as she had so curtly called it. In his mind every woman became Vicki, every scent was hers. Every time he fed, he fed from her. He had caught himself doing it early on and even made an effort to choose women who looked and acted nothing like her. Just the previous night he had even drowned himself in the affections of two dark-haired, buxom beauties at once. But he realized now that the only way he was going to exorcise Vicki from his mind, if not his heart, was to give his fantasies full reign and experience every tortured feeling they brought up until he got roundly sick of it all. Suppressing them only meant they would surface elsewhere, and painfully, and more than likely inconveniently. Like in his work, for instance.

To his surprise, the clock read one in the morning. Drawing feverishly, he had lost all track of time. And other things as well; he was hungry. A bite was in order before he could come back and continue to bury himself in his work and misery.

Not quite an hour later, freshly cleaned up and attired in his favorite outfit of black jeans and black blazer, Henry Fitzroy strolled past the line waiting to get into the Bar None nightclub. His slanted blue eyes skipped across the women in the patiently queued crowd, all of them sweet, luscious and in the mood to party. They were short and tall, thin and voluptuous, and he imagined that short skirts or tight jeans together with plunging necklines predominated under the thick winter coats. There was no equal to her, but he soon located a pale approximation. Literally pale. Her hair was too light and her skin almost rivaled his own complexion. But the expression was right—cold. He turned on his considerable charm, smiled, and extended a hand to her.

"Would you care to join me tonight?"

"Join you? Join you where? The end of the line?"

_Perfect,_ he thought. "The front of the line actually. I'm a VIP here, but I hate going in by myself. Would you do me the honor?"

She considered the length of the line, half a block at least, and hugged herself against the damp chill. "Well, I'm holding a place in line for my friends..."

"Say yes," he purred, caressing her cold cheek lightly with the back of one finger. This would have been the moment where Vicki would have decked him—or tried to anyway.

"Oh what the heck. OK. I'm Melanie, by the way."

_If you say so._

At the front of the line, Henry needed no more than a moment and a word, and the attendant unclipped the velvet rope for them. He liked the interior of this place. Not the ultra glitzy style that was so in vogue these days—and so frigid in his opinion—the Bar None maintained a Soho feel about it, including the liberal use of brick and wood in its interior design. The club attracted the kind of eclectic upper-crust artsy clientèle he preferred to dine on, so he frequented the place as well.

Henry didn't drink anything from the bar, but any bartender there would have sworn that he was their best customer. What he bought he gave away, usually to those he later chose to also take home for a more intimate dining experience. But that was more than what he was willing to indulge in with this girl tonight. The music thumping in the dark, smoky air was ghastly as far as he was concerned, an assault on his brain as well as his sensitive ears, but it also served to anesthetize the humans. Once they entered here, their perception of reality altered, making it that much easier for him to feed.

Having shed her coat, Melanie revealed more curves than Vicki ever had. Nor would the Warrior Princess have consented to a dress quite that frilly. It looked good on Melanie. It was definitely not Vicki. Slightly riled at this ding to his fantasy life, Henry opted to concentrate on her face. Still aloof, she was nevertheless warming to him. He had yet to meet a female who wouldn't. Except for Vicki, of course.

He told her that she didn't need a drink first, and so she didn't. She seduced him onto the dance floor and he nudged her into his favorite dark corner with practiced skill. Over the frantic beat of the music, no one heard her gasp in his sensual embrace. The blood came and with it the warm, erotic joy he always felt when feeding. He grasped the back of her head with one hand, pulled her hips against his with the other, and let his mind expand and penetrate hers until she trembled with the release of an experience she imagined to be very different from what it truly was. Not much of this was conscious on Henry's part. It was simply what he did when he fed, this sharing of joy and hypnotic deception. In the meantime he lost himself in a fantasy all his own.

_Vicki._

He could clearly see her face in his mind's eye the way he always wanted to see it—soft with ecstasy and surrender. He could feel her warmth against his body and in his mouth. He tasted her blood, so uniquely hers, so uniquely marked by his own. He could smell her...

He could smell her.

Henry's breath caught, the girl in his arms suddenly forgotten, his lips still locked against her quaking throat. He _could_ smell her. In the miasma of scents and noise swirling about him, her scent was but a whisper, but it was there. As was her voice.

"Are you sure? I can't see that far."

"I'm sure," replied a stranger's voice.

Henry pressed his tongue against the wound in the girl's neck until the blood stopped coming. "You're having a great time," he told her. "You never met me. Go." Looking at little dazed, she turned and gyrated back out onto the dance floor.

Henry wiped his mouth and turned, making no effort to subdue his aroused vampire nature. Something was very wrong besides the unlikely fact that she was there. He spotted them easily across the room off to one side in another darkened alcove, his Vicki and a male easily a head and a half taller than her, elegant in a long, dark coat and smooth, dark waves of hair swept back from a handsome face with a decidedly blank expression. He was too still, too pale, too intend on watching him. Henry knew the truth moments before he admitted it to himself; Vicki had come in the company of another vampire.

Henry moved forward across the dance floor with supernatural speed, making little more than a blur of a motion in the confusion of light and shadow and whirling bodies. He stopped before them with barely a foot to spare, popping up out of thin air as far as Vicki was concerned. She gasped in surprise.

"Damn it, Henry, I..."

"What have you done?!" he demanded, his voice thick with blood and power.

"Nice to see you again, too, Henry."

"Explain. Now," he snapped. He didn't have to elaborate. She understood.

"My client. Mick St. John. We need your help."

The other vampire nodded politely and extended his hand. "Henry Fitzroy, I take it. Heard a lot about you."

Henry growled but made no move toward him.

"You didn't have to interrupt a good feed on our account," Mick went on, blatantly ignoring the warning. "We would have waited."

"You're not scoring any points here, Mick," Vicki mumbled.

Mick smiled.

Never, never, _never_ since Christina first took him hunting had Henry been surprised by another vampire while feeding. It simply wasn't done—not if the other expected to live at any rate. "Unless you have a death wish, you _will_ leave this instant and never set foot in my territory again! _Do_ I make myself clear?"

Mick quirked a brow at him. "Feel strongly about this, do you?"

_"Get. Out."_

"I don't think so." By the time Mick had uttered the last word, his voice had fallen into an inhuman timber, his eyes glittered green and bright, and a pair of fangs extended into prominence between his lips.

Henry couldn't help the snarl ripping out of his chest. He had rarely been this angry. The only reason he hadn't ripped out the other vampire's heart by now was because he remained acutely aware of Vicki's presence. He preferred to think that he stayed his hand because he had never before exposed her to the full violence of his being, rather than that she might be distracting him.

But then, there she was, before him, her hands on his chest, her body wedged between him and the other. Madness! She kept repeating his name like a chant, a prayer. "Henry. Henry. Henry. Henry. Listen to me, Henry."

She was so close. Her scent filled his senses, nearly obliterating the unwelcome stranger if he weren't standing right there glaring back at him over her shoulder. Over her shoulder…. He felt disoriented. What was she doing here with this creature? "I need you, Henry. I need you. Do you hear me? I need you."

He looked at her then. Tears welled in her eyes. Her lips trembled. So close...

"Henry, I need you. I love you."

He touched her face softly, brushing at the tears, felt his own rising, fought them down. He leaned forward to whisper into her ear, to feel her hair against his face, horrifyingly aware of the other watching every move and hearing every word. He didn't intend for it to turn into an embrace, but her arms came around him like delicate vines. In spite of himself he pulled her closer. "Please, Vicki. You know what this means to me. Why did you bring him here?"

"I needed him to find you."

"No you didn't. You know me well enough. You could have found me on your own."

He felt her tense then relent. "I needed an excuse, Henry. And Mick really does need your help. It was fate."

Self-same was watching this exchange in respectful silence, no longer displaying any type of aggression. With Vicki in his arms and bolstered by her declaration of love, Henry was feeling somewhat more magnanimous. Wishing he could explore this new development further right now, he instead inhaled a deep drought of her beloved scent...and stopped short. Blood. He pushed her to arm's length and looked at her critically, inhaling again.

"Henry?"

He had almost missed it in his agitation and filled as he was with the taste and smell of the girl's blood. But there it was—Vicki's blood. His gaze dropped to her arm. She impulsively reached for it with her other hand. Henry tilted his head, scenting, reading the situation as clearly as though it were being re-enacted for him. "Henry, it's not what you...," she began.

Mick never saw it coming. The speed with which Henry leveled his fury at him was invisible to the human eye and nearly so to the vampire. Henry felt Mick's nose burst into a spray of blood at his knuckles at the very same moment that he himself felt his groin explode in an unspeakable agony that shot straight up his spine and pierced his brain. In his rage, Henry had completely missed Mick's instantaneous counterattack as well.

They both went down hard, writhing side-by-side on the floor, one clasping his bloody face, the other cupping his genitals. Henry pierced his tongue clear through with his fangs in an effort to keep from roaring loud enough to shatter every glass in the building. Beside him Mick gasped and blubbered. A number of humans stared curiously, alert as only prey animals could be, trying to decide if either fight or flight was indicated.

Vicki stood over them, bewildered. "What...what just happened?"

Mick sat up, adjusted his broken nose and took several noisy, experimental breaths. Wiping at his face with a handful of discarded drink napkins, he looked at Henry who struggled to sit up, blood dripping from his mouth. "Your friend didn't like you saving my life." The grin on Mick's messed up face looked downright maniacal. "And I didn't like him not liking it."

"Oh," said Vicki. "Henry, it was an emergency. Why didn't you let me explain?"

Henry dabbed at his mouth, pushed his hair out of his face, and looked up at her. "You offered, didn't you, Vicki."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes. I did. So?"

"You shouldn't do that."

"Unless it's you, of course."

"Yes."

"Henry, you've got issues, my friend," said Mick as he got to his feet. His face was nearly fully recovered from the incident, fueled, no doubt, by her blood, Henry thought darkly.

"Only one. You."

"Whatever. Can we talk now? Are we done playing your games? Because I'm running out of time here."

Henry stood up in a fast, smooth motion. "Vicki, why did you bring him here?"

When her pleading gaze met his eyes, Henry knew he would have no choice but to believe everything she said and do all that she asked. He was helpless in the knowledge of her love for him. "I promised you would help him, Henry."

He clenched his jaw in displeasure but gave a small nod. True love always had a price. And if this was hers, then so be it.


	4. Struggle Buggy

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 4: Struggle Buggy

Vicki's boot heels slowly clicked across the marble floor of the Westin Grand's lobby. She had lost track of how long this day had become, though she knew that it hadn't even begun until Mick St. John walked into her office. More than that, actually. He had, in the space of moments, managed to restore her will to live…just before almost drinking her life away in that lavatory. She glanced over at the hotel's business center. There he was at one of the computer terminals, clicking away with one hand and on his cell phone with the other.

What very different creatures they were, Mick and Henry. A very good thing, that, of course. She could tell Henry wasn't going to be rolling out a welcome mat any time soon, but neither had he killed Mick outright when he very well could have and even had reason to—to his way of thinking anyway. Oh, yes, she knew her Henry as he knew her. He had been correct in saying that she didn't need anyone to find him. But Mick certainly had made short work of the process for her. She compiled a list of places she felt Henry would frequent and Mick used his most amazing sense of smell to find whatever trace of Henry might linger there. They had canvassed four clubs in two different neighborhoods before arriving at Bar None. Getting in was no problem; they flashed their PI credentials in tandem, claimed official business, and were left to go about their business.

At Bar None, they had found two young women who got the immediate attention of Mick's nose. Both had recently spent time in Henry's company, and their necks sported tiny telltale marks as well. Mick had questioned them with a mixture of PI professionalism and a sweetly affable charm that had them easily beguiled and cooperating far more than Vicki had appreciated. Oh, yes, they had been there the night before and met a truly "dreamy hottie." They weren't bashful about extolling his skills as a lover either. And they were definitely looking for him again tonight but had yet to spot him. They feared that they had worn him out, poor thing.

"Is this what you meant by 'plays with his food'?" Mick had asked, looking bemused.

"I really don't want to talk about it. Keep sniffing."

_What was I thinking?!_ she berated herself. Henry had moved to a different city, he hadn't changed his nature. There would always be women in his eternal life. He fed on more than the blood. He fed on the passion.

Vicki had to admit it had stung when Mick reported spotting him feeding in a shadowed corner. For once she felt fortunate for her failing eyesight. Even knowing that he was merely doing what he had to survive would not have made it any easier to see. But for the first time she bothered to ask herself why she felt that way. The answer had come without mercy and burst from her amidst the streaming entreaties flowing from her heart.

_Henry, I need you. I love you._

Vicki flattened her lips. She had done it, admitted it to him. Admitted it to herself. There was no recalling the words, no turning back. He would never allow it.

She heard Mick walk up behind her. "Any sign of him?"

"No."

Mick made a frustrated little noise. Just as Vicki had predicted, flying was not an option in Henry's book. "Surely you're mad! People die on planes."

"Not nearly as often as driving on highways," Mick had countered.

"I'll take those chances. I didn't live this long to perish falling from the sky engulfed in flame. And that's not even mentioning that any flight we take that far east is never going to make it there before sunrise. I can't believe you would consider it even for yourself."

"He does sunlight," Vicki had pointed out for no reason she could name. Henry looked appalled.

Mick laid down the law. "Fine. But we're not stopping. If we're really driving all that way, we're driving in shifts, and you better figure out how you're going to handle the daylight, buddy, because if anything happens to Beth because of this, I swear by all that is holy and not about our unnatural lives, I'll consider her blood on your hands. You got that?"

Henry took this under due consideration. "Fair enough."

He had been gone for an hour now, leaving them to seek shelter from the chill in the hotel lobby where Mick had been anxious to get his hands on the Internet. When Henry finally pulled up to the front door, it was—to the horror of all in attendance—in a shiny black hearse with a shiny black coffin in the back.

"You can't be serious, Henry! You can't expect us to drive cross-country in...in _this_!" She couldn't even bring herself to name the thing.

Henry shrugged. "I don't want to go at all, but these are my terms." Looking directly at Mick, he added, "Take them or leave them."

Mick took them, but what he truly thought Vicki couldn't have said. With Henry near, Mick was much harder to read, maintaining his face in a mask of studied neutrality. The façade cracked a bit when Henry turned into the backseat driver from hell the moment Mick pulled out of the hotel driveway. He insisted on maintaining speed limits exactly, keeping proper distance to other traffic, and not bending a single rule in any way. "_This_ is how people get killed, Henry," Mick snapped after they had finally merged onto the Trans-Canada Highway and in the process nearly got blown off the road by a barreling truck. Vicki saw flashes of her life pass before her eyes. "Don't tell me you rode horses at a walk all your brief mortal life as well?"

"Of course not. I had coaches."

"And I just bet you terrorized your coachmen back then too."

Henry watched the other vampire speculatively, a half-smile tugging at his sensitive mouth, but he said nothing more. Mick maintained the speed limit and a sullen silence. The headlights of oncoming traffic washed across their faces in regular intervals, stark and glaring on their pale skins. Vicki, sitting between them on the front seat bench of the hearse, sensed herself fulfilling her unspoken role of safety buffer. She only hoped they remembered she was there and didn't end up going through her to get at each other.

"So what do you expect us to do in Toronto exactly, St. John?" Henry finally ventured.

"I need to find a vampire with a human hostage."

"So you said. But you had no trouble finding me."

"I had help." He glanced at Vicki. "Now I need more help. I don't know Toronto. I need you and your contacts there to track down where she might have gone."

"There is only one other vampire there officially, and thanks to you I'm about to invade her territory without permission."

"Can't you call ahead?"

"I did. I'm not welcome. Neither are you."

"Great."

"But we're still going?"

"Yes."

"Because of a human."

Mick shot a hostile look at Henry. Vicki put a hand on both of them. "Play nice, boys."

Reaching inside his coat, Mick pulled out the picture of the blonde. He handed it over. "Her name is Beth," he said, his voice sounding clipped as though he stopped himself from saying far, far more.

Henry studied the image in silence.

"She is to him what I am to you, Henry," Vicki said softly. "If Mick is my excuse to find you, why can't you help him find her?"

She watched his expression soften almost against his will. If ever there was a romantic, it was her Prince Henry. Silently he turned away to look out into the passing night. "He'll help you," Vicki told Mick, handing him back the picture.

Mick didn't look overly convinced. He tugged Beth's image back near his heart. "Thank you."

A full minute came and went with only the hum of the engine and the rushing air to fill it. Vicki watched the back of Henry's head, knowing instinctively that his thoughts mirrored her own, dwelling on this new thing between them. She hesitated twice before gingerly placing her hand on his thigh. When he spoke, his voice was soft and painfully raw. "Did you mean it, Victoria?"

Vicki swallowed. "Yes, Henry. I meant it." Lowering her voice even more, she said it again. "I love you."

He turned to look at her hand on his leg and covered it with his own. His left arm was already draped comfortably over the seat back behind her. "What happened to Mike and his one lifetime?"

"I don't know," she said, not intending to say more, not wanting to feel that pain again. But Henry waited patiently, and after all they had been through she supposed she owed him this much. "I haven't seen him again. He never returned my calls. He...disconnected all his phones. I think he left Toronto, too," she finished with a soft catch in her throat.

Henry looked up. There was no mistaking the anguish that suddenly touched his beautiful, unguarded face. "I am your second choice then?"

"No, Henry. Never." She turned her palm and squeezed his hand tightly. "You, Henry Fitzroy, are the one fate brought back to me."

Slowly, softly he smiled. The tentative stirrings of joy in his clear, bright eyes ignited her heart. She loved seeing him happy; he looked like the boy he had once been. Henry lifted her glasses from her face and put them aside. Gently he brushed the hair out of her face and leaned closer, inhaling her scent. She had rarely allowed him this close to her, at least not for long, and never with a serious intent of following through with anything. For all that she had never wanted for anything more than a partner who could see beyond her bristling shell, stand by her, protect her and keep her safe, the most eminently capable candidate for the job was by far too powerful to be trusted with that task. More often than not, Henry frightened her. Everything about him was dangerous. And yet...and yet he had never treated her with anything but tenderness, had never shown her anything but love and understanding. He was the one being who knew her better than she knew herself. Even now, she was certain, he sensed the struggle in her heart and forced nothing upon her, permitting her to decide what it was she really wanted.

And for this more than anything, Vicki loved him.

"No fangs," she whispered, moving ever so slightly in his direction.

"No fangs," he promised, smiling against her mouth.

The kiss began sweet and full of tender promises. Vicki sighed as though the whole world had been lifted off her shoulders and handed her to do with as she pleased. She leaned into him. The kiss deepened slowly, warm and soft and hungry. Their fingers explored each other lightly as feathers, in each others' hair, trailing along jaws, down necks and across chests. His breath on her face, his touch, the sharp clean smell of him, all combined for her like a drug she hadn't realized she was already hooked on—a drug that set her senses on fire and struck lightning into the pit of her belly. She trembled. Their embrace tightened. He ran a thumb down her spine and caressed her buttocks...

It was the sound of a throat forcibly and repeatedly clearing that reminded her that they were not alone. "Cut it out you two. We don't have time to get you a room."

Touching their foreheads together, Vicki and Henry smiled at each other—she shyly, he grinning outright. She ran her hands over his chest, stopping to finger the amulets he always wore around his neck. "Are we bothering you, Mick?"

"It's a hearse, not a struggle buggy. Some respect for the departed, please."

"Said the un-dead to the un-dead," quipped Henry.

"You know what I mean."

"No, actually I don't. But if you need us to behave to keep us on the road, so be it."

"A struggle buggy," Vicki repeated. "I don't know if I like the sound of that."

Henry cheerfully obliged with an elaboration. "It's what they used to call automobiles when they first appeared and young people discovered the possibilities of a back seat. And unless I miss my guess," he added, narrowing his gaze at Mick, "that's likely the era that birthed our prudish coachman."

Mick said nothing but even Vicki didn't miss the clenching jaw.

"Play nice, boys. Please," she sighed, settling back against Henry's chest only partly to break the new tension in the car. Mostly she just wanted to drown herself in him. Her mind whirled with emotions she could barely name. With a mixture of heat and trepidation, her imagination strayed to breathless images of where their embrace might have gone if this contraption really had a back seat. Somehow she doubted Henry would have cared that Mick was trying to concentrate on driving or that he was even there. That was her Prince Henry. Not a modest bone in his body.

Henry stroked her hair tenderly and she closed her eyes, surrendering to him and her exhaustion. Her last conscious thought was that she had found safety at last in the most unlikely of places—a vampire's arms.


	5. Cousin Henry

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 5: Cousin Henry

With every mile creeping by, Mick's frustrations climbed like mercury in a thermometer. Henry Fitzroy was proving to be as intractable as Vicki had made him out to be, even more so than Joseph if such a thing were possible. But dealing with Joseph had taught him a few things Henry would not know to expect in his vampirically isolated existence. At least Mick fervently hoped so. Dawn could hardly come soon enough.

In the meantime, if nothing else, his two traveling companions did provide plenty of distractions of the sort he had certainly not expected himself. Had they "bothered" him? _Oh, sweetheart,_ he thought. _In ways you can't imagine._

Vicki's breathing shifted into a deep rhythmic cadence, and Mick glanced over to see her limp in Henry's arms, her face slack in sound sleep. "I've hardly known her a day, but I'm willing to bet she hasn't been that relaxed in a long time."

Henry, deep in thought, slowly stroked her hair. "I suspect you're right. Of course, her being anemic at the moment probably doesn't help her energy level any."

"Had to bring that up, didn't you."

"You're clumsy."

"More foolish than anything. She saved us both."

"How is that?"

Mick considered a variety of evasive comments, but ultimately settled on a version of the facts. "I got on a plane full of humans for over five hours even though I hadn't fed in…a while. If she hadn't done what she did..." He shrugged. "Well, I'm sure you can figure it out."

"Oh yes. Falling from the sky engulfed in flame comes to mind."

"Yeah," Mick allowed, deciding against arguing the finer technical points of likely outcomes of a vampire going on a feeding frenzy in mid-flight.

Henry carefully tugged at the sleeve of Vicki's jacket and the sweater beneath it, pushed it back past the pentagram tattoo and removed the paper towels with their dried red stains. Mick winced at the sight of the bruise thus revealed. Two nasty gashes marked the epicenter of the damage.

"Strange," Henry mused, studying the arm with obvious distaste. "I don't think you're newly turned."

_Might as well be,_ Mick thought. "She already criticized my table manners. No need to elaborate."

Taking care not to disturb the sleeping woman, Henry eased up her arm. Mick had no notion of what he was about until the sharp, distinctive smell of fresh vampire blood assaulted him. Henry tenderly licked at her injured flesh, his tongue leaving a thick, bloody trail. Several long strokes later, he had lapped up the blood and with it the bruise and puncture wounds as well. No trace of Mick's misdeeds remained. Vicki stirred sleepily, touching his face in gratitude before pulling the arm back under her.

Mick looked straight ahead at the Canadian Rockies rising in the distance, the jagged peaks softly outlined with the first stirrings of dawn. This strange intimacy between Henry and Vicki was more than he had ever conceived possible between a vampire and a human. The ancient one made it look so easy. Could it really be like that? Henry clearly believed that there didn't need to be a barrier between them, and apparently he had finally convinced Vicki of this as well. In Mick's own life, Beth had obviously grasped that fact a long time ago and had made every effort to convince Mick in turn. Now, for the first time, Mick was willing to seriously consider evidence.

"Are you going to turn her?" he asked before he could think about it too closely. He knew he was taking a risk, but he couldn't help himself. The question burned him from the inside out. When there was no immediate response, he added, "I don't mean now. I mean eventually. Ever."

"No. I won't. Probably not ever."

"So you're just going to watch her die."

Henry pressed his face into her hair and closed his eyes for a long moment. "She wouldn't be the first."

"How...how do you do that, exactly? How do you watch the people you love die? How do you go on?"

"You are still young in the blood. You will get used to it."

"I don't want to."

"You don't have a choice."

Mick twisted his lip into a bitter grimace. "I never seem to, no."

"It was not your wish to be turned?"

"No. I was forced."

"I'm sorry," Henry said softly, causing Mick to look over quickly. But there was no sarcasm in evidence, only a small, troubled frown. "I desired to be turned. I have never regretted it a moment."

Mick thought Henry had been young, but he hadn't stopped to consider just how young until this moment. Sitting so still in the shifting light and shadow he looked barely more than twenty, if that. "It doesn't look to me like you were old enough to know what you were giving up, Henry."

"That's possible. But what I have gained is far more than I ever expected." He dropped a kiss on top of Vicki's sleeping head. "So much of life, so many people, I would have never known had I not been turned. I cannot imagine having missed it all, not being part of this time and all its possibilities."

Mick nodded to himself, conceding the point. "But you know she will die," he repeated, unwillingly fixated on that point.

"Maybe if she wanted it. She can be persuasive. But I don't want to turn her. I would loose her if I did. My kind doesn't coexist well."

"You and I seem to be coexisting OK. At the moment."

"You are not my kind. To be sure I don't like you in my territory, but neither do I feel like I have to kill you on sight. At the moment," he added pointedly.

Mick flashed a quick, feral grin, acknowledging the unspoken stalemate of sorts between them. With that violent little episode back at the club Henry had made it very clear that he could dispatch of Mick at any moment without warning. But Mick had made it equally clear that the reverse was also true. Thus the respect between them was grudging at best, based on mutually assured annihilation and cemented by a shared desire to see the loved ones in their lives safe. For the time being at least, that was enough.

Several moments passed in silence. The mountains stood in increasingly distinct relief against the sky. Mick waited. But Henry managed to surprise him yet again. "I do remember hearing about your kind some time ago."

"You know about my kind?" he asked incredulously. "What exactly do you know?"

"I heard of the great purge during the French revolution. But that was hardly a surprise, as openly as they were living. It was only a matter of time before the humans revolted. I didn't know any had survived, but I suppose some had to."

Mick had heard the tales himself barely a week ago himself. "Yes," he said simply. "Some survived." Coraline definitely was a survivor with a few tricks up her sleeve. But those were his secrets now. His secret hopes. And Henry clearly had no interest in being human again, however briefly, so there was no point in divulging any of them.

"We're cousins of a sort, I suppose," Henry mused.

"Cousins?" Mick quirked a questioning brow at him. "What's the relationship do you think?"

"There are legends. Some truth may be buried in there somewhere."

A full mile slid beneath them before Mick finally broke the silence. "So were you going to share those with me, or what?"

"Not now. The sun is near. Get off at the next exit."

_And not a moment too soon,_ Mick thought. Henry just didn't seem to miss an opportunity to annoy him. It was high time to return the favor.

Five minutes later, beneath an ominously brightening sky, the hearse bumped to a halt in a small copes of frost-encrusted trees just off the highway. Mick and a groggy Vicki watched as Henry pushed open the upper half of the casket lid and slipped in between the narrow crack allowed by the close quarters of the vehicle. "Sweet dreams," said Vicki.

"I don't..."

"I know, Henry. It's just an expression. Now get in there and get safe before I stuff you in myself."

_She would, too,_ Mick thought. Vicki was like Beth—on steroids.

The lid had already lowered when it came back up again. "Mick. Drive careful."

Mick, his large, dark sunglasses already in place, grinned. "Don't you worry, your lordship. We'll be there before you know it." He thought he saw the slightest shadow of premonition flit across Henry's face, but, of course, it was far too late for that. The lid closed, and Mick and Vicki looked at each other in surprise when they heard several locks slide into place.

"Paranoid, isn't he," Mick observed.

"Wouldn't you be?"

The sun broke across the horizon in a radiant blaze. Ignoring his own discomfort, Mick listened with morbid fascination as the sound of Henry's heart slowed, flickered and then stopped. "It's official. We have a corpse."

"You're not funny, Mick."

"Put your seatbelt on, sweetheart. I'm about to get a lot less funny." He turned and floored the gas pedal, sending the unwieldy vehicle bounding toward the on-ramp for the west-bound lanes.

Vicki was now fully awake. "What are you doing? Where are we going?"

The engine howled in protest. "Hang tight. All will become clear."

An hour and a half later, the hearse blew into Vancouver International in a fair imitation of a fire truck out on a call. Which was about the time that Vicki finally gave up calling Mick every name she could think of in every language she had ever been exposed to. "You are really, really going to do this, aren't you, you bastard."

"Absolutely," Mick promised as he pulled to a stop in front of the cargo depot. He looked at her more closely. "That's good. Keep those tears coming."

"What?"

"Just follow my lead."

"Your...?"

He waited for her to get out of the vehicle and unhappily drudge along behind him before entering the depot and getting the attention of a pair of porters there. He directed them to bring in the deceased. "Gently please," Vicki exhorted, looking properly grief-stricken, though horrified was probably more like it.

"Who have we got here?" asked the official with a tag that read "Henry Farrow, Inspector" pinned to his chest.

"Cousin Henry," replied Mick, solemnly. "Heart attack." Vicki, shadowing the casket closely, was now well and truly sobbing and dug in her pockets for tissue. "His wife," he added. "It was very sudden. Great shock."

Vicki blew her nose with a noisy honk. "I can't believe you're doing this," she whined furiously.

"Now Victoria, honey, you know we have to do this. The funeral is tonight. Everyone is flying in. You can't keep Aunt Jo Jo and Uncle Gilbert waiting at their age. And you just know what..."

"He _doesn't_ _fly!_" she insisted, one hand glued to the seal of the lid as though undecided between prying it open or nailing it shut.

"Oh ma'am, I am so very sorry," the other Henry said sympathetically. "But I really don't think he'll mind now."

"Thank you, Henry," Mick said.

Vicki turned purple—with rage he assumed. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her hair hung wild, and the glasses fogged up before her eyes. He put his arm around her to shepherd her away from the X-Ray machine before she got any bright ideas about throwing herself in there with the temporarily departed. She violently shrugged out of his embrace. "Don't touch me," she hissed and started pacing a tight circle by the casket.

Some basic questions ensued regarding flight, destination, and cause of death. Right on cue, Mick produced various papers, including a death certificate for one Henry Nelson. He didn't have to look at Vicki to know that she would have dropped him dead on the spot given half a chance. Then the conveyor belt rumbled to life and the black lacquered coffin of Henry Fitzroy eased into the X-Ray tube. Inspector Henry Farrow watched the image slide past on his monitor and shook his head. "Shame, shame. Looks like a young fellow too."

Mick held his breath. He couldn't hear Henry's heart but that didn't mean it might not still be moving in some infinitesimal way. His own heart nearly stopped when Henry Farrow frowned. "Wow."

"Wow? What wow?"

"Is that a sword in there with him?"

"Yes," Vicki said with grave, if watery, dignity before Mick could even comprehend the question. "It was a gift from his father. He never goes anywhere without it."

Inspector Farrow raised both brows. "Obviously."

The casket slipped all the way through the tube without further incident, and, after a brief stop to have various labels and paperwork affixed, continued into the depths of the cargo depot and out of sight.

Watching it go, Vicki wiped at her nose and took a shaky breath. "I hate you, Mick St. John."

"He didn't exactly leave me much of a choice."

"You could have _asked_ him!"

"I know you know better."

"And where did you get all that paperwork? Don't tell me you keep that in your back pocket just in case you have to transport a body?"

"No. But I've had plenty of practice at being several steps ahead of the un-dead." Logan, his techy vamp contact in LA, had been more than happy to whip up fake papers on Mick's specifications and e-mail them to him. All that remained was to print them and forge some signatures just before Henry had appeared with the hearse, effectively playing right into Mick's hands. He would have shipped him in an orange crate if need be, but a proper container made it all so nice and tidy. He had been able to pull it off because of what very little Vicki had told him about Henry's habits and vulnerabilities before she even knew who she was telling it to. She was quite bright enough to have figured that out by now. She didn't hate him. She hated herself.

"I'll make this up to you, Vicki."

"Don't bother."

But he did. To a point at least. Two hours later, high above Canada in the brilliant winter morning sun, Mick watched Vicki eat a hearty breakfast served on fine first class china. She was mollified enough to begin to fret over Henry's reaction come nightfall. Mick wasn't looking forward to that either—especially considering the sword locked in there with him—but if it meant saving Beth, it was a small price to pay.

Behind the pulled shade of his window, Mick stretched out in the spacious seat and adjusted his personal ventilator to pelt him with cold air at full blast. It wasn't a freezer, but put together with having stripped down to his T-shirt and jeans and the naturally chilly air of the cabin, it would do.

He didn't know how long he had slept when he felt her hand on his arm, squeezing gently. He looked to find her rolled up beneath two blankets and only a shade away from sleep. He sighed, closed his eyes, and let the monotonous drone take him away again.

_I'm coming, Beth. Hold on. I'm almost there._


	6. Awakening

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 6: Awakening

"Geeze, Mick, how long are you planning on staying?"

"As long as it takes."

"Well, don't be shy about making yourself at home."

"I have to eat."

"I've heard that one before," Vicki murmured below her breath.

"I guess a freezer would be too much to hope for?"

"There's a small one in here."

"I meant one I would fit into."

She paused her rummaging in the mini fridge to look up at him. "The open window in the middle of winter not working for you?"

"It's not ideal. A bit…bright."

"Oh. Right.

"Here. That's the last of it."

Vicki took the three squishy, red bags and piled them on top of the others already in the veggie bin. "God, I hope I don't have to explain this to anybody."

Mick snipped off the end of the feeder tube on the bag of O-negative he had put aside for himself and squeezed the contents into a tall glass while Vicki watched him prepare his dinner with rapt attention. He considered taking his glass and going into the hall, but he got the distinct impression she would have followed him. Resigned to an audience, he emptied half his meal in several greedy gulps then closed his eyes to savor the taste, permitting himself a moment of quiet ecstasy.

"Is it as good as mine?"

Mick's eyes popped open and he stifled a cough. Vicki stood before him, arms crossed, looking expectant. "I do like it better warm," he admitted.

"I suppose it's better than dragging donors off the street and into your bed every night."

Mick licked his lips. "That, I promise you, I have never done." And quite frankly he had no idea how Henry was doing it without leaving a trail of corpses in his wake. The possibilities intrigued him, however, and he made a mental note to question the other vampire about it—should Henry ever deign to speak to him again.

He looked over at the shiny black casket taking up most of the floor space in Vicki's office. She had carefully scraped off all the shipping labels and polished the surface while he had been out canvassing blood banks for clues and, of course, take-out. Dusk had set in solidly by now and snow flurries whirled past the window in the last gray light of day. Where was Beth this dismal evening? Was she warm at least? Or out in the snow somewhere, shivering as only a California girl could?

_Hang on, Beth. Almost there._

The faint sound of a heartbeat fluttering to life drew his attention back to the moment. A deep inhale followed. He touched Vicki's arm and indicated the coffin with a nod. She was instantly alert and serious. "What's the mood, do you think?"

"Give it a second."

"Hmm," she said, studying the casket.

Mick knew she couldn't hear the subsonic rumble emanating from the thing. "If I had to guess, I'd say he's definitely figured it out, and…he's not thrilled."

Vicki turned back to the fridge and retrieved a pint of B-positive. Handing it to Mick she said, "You pop the cork on this. I'll handle the rest."

_The rest?_ He was afraid to ask.

Straightening with resolve, she approached the coffin and began to slowly pace along its length, waiting. Mick watched from the corner of an eye as he pulled another glass from the mini cupboard above the tiny sink and cut the feeder line of the second bag. Henry had to be scenting this blood. He had to know they were there and where they were. This space was too well marked with its own distinct odor of polished wood, old books and well-used gym equipment to not be instantly recognizable to him. He had to have put two and two together and arrived at the inevitable conclusion that he had spent the day at thirty thousand feet, plus. And, judging from the heart rate in the casket, he was more than not thrilled. He was livid. Mick paused his milking operation for a moment as he remembered the sword in there with him.

The rapid-fire sound of the internal locks releasing preceded by a mere second the lid flying back and Henry Fitzroy flowing out into the room like a ghostly vapor—to the human perception—or a sleek predator leaping for the kill in Mick's hyper-detailed awareness. Henry stood in the center of the room, fangs bared, snarling, eyes blazing with black fury. In spite of his best intentions, Mick felt an instinctive answering challenge grip him.

"Mick!" Vicki snapped, stopping him short. "Don't even think about it! And you…," she turned to Henry, her voice warping into nothing short of a purr, "…good morning, mister."

Just how many more surprises had this woman up her sleeve? She walked right up to a vampire in a full rage, took his face in both her hands and…kissed him. Soundly.

Obviously Mick wasn't the only vampire in the room totally taken off guard by this maneuver. Henry froze in place, a furious frown gathering his brow. Clearly putting aside her qualms about fangs, Vicki quickly deepened the intimacy. Mick watched her press her lithe, fragile human form pulsing with blood against Henry's strong immortal body…and forgot to breathe. A warning growl reverberated out of Henry's chest but Vicki would have none of it. She trailed her fingers enticingly down his neck and the side of his chest. Placing his hands at her waist he hesitated, unsure, but only for a moment. Crushing Vicki to himself with one hand and grasping the back of her head with the other, Henry returned the kiss with downright ferocious—and decidedly hungry—abandon.

Something cold crept over Mick's fingers. Startled, he looked down. The glass he had been blindly filling with blood had run out of room. "Shit!" The flaccid bag slapped into the sink. Quickly sipping off the top, he reached for a towel and commenced mopping at the slippery stuff threatening to spill off the counter. Most of his attention, however, was still riveted to the scene playing out by the casket. Vicki was well on her way to driving Henry beyond whatever shred of self-control he maintained, and, judging by her pounding heart and uneven breathing, she knew it. Putting the towel aside, Mick narrowed his eyes and reconsidered. No, Vicki may be in over her head but Henry knew exactly what he was doing….

She gasped suddenly and tried to pull away. The scent of fresh—and warm—blood flooded the room. She stared at him, wide-eyed, and touched her lip, her fingers coming away coated in crimson. "Ow."

"And whose fault is that now?" Henry murmured as he reached for her hand and carefully sucked the blood off her fingertips.

Vicki placed her hand on the side of his face. "I'm sorry, Henry. Please don't be angry."

"Never at you, my princess." Leaning close, he kissed Vicki's cut lip, using as he had before his own blood to seal her wound. She sighed and kissed him again, gently, before stepping out of his arms. He let her go with a wistful expression.

But then his eyes found Mick. "Was I not clear about my wishes, St. John?"

Propped against the counter, Mick crossed his arms. "Very clear, Fitzroy. Your wishes just didn't fit into my plans. We don't have time for endless road trips, fun as that was," he added with an amiable smile.

Henry blurred into his face. "I should just kill you and get this over with."

"Boy, you're really not a morning person, are you?" He picked up the glass, gave it one final wipe with a fresh paper towel, and held it out to him. "Here. Have some breakfast. You'll feel better."

Henry recoiled from the offering. "Have you lost your mind completely?"

"It's not very sexy, I know. But we're pressed for time, Cousin, so I took the liberty of getting some take-out."

"We've got other blood types in the fridge," Vicki put in helpfully. "But I thought you might like this one. You seemed to like it in the past—when you got it from me."

Henry sniffed at the glass. "This is stale, not to mention cold. You can't expect me to…drink that."

Mick pushed the glass at him, forcing him to take it, and picked up his own. Clinking the two together, he emptied his. Henry watched him, dumbfounded. "Is it _really_ that hard for you to hunt your own prey?"

"It is when I'm in a hurry. And I am. In a hurry," he repeated succinctly.

Henry held his gaze for a long, thoughtful moment. What remained of his murderous temper ebbed. He peered into the glass as though he had never seen blood before. Probably he hadn't—in quite this form.

"What?" Mick finally burst out, exasperated. "Do you want me to microwave it for you?"

Vicki made a noise somewhere between disgust and impatience. "Henry, look at the bright side. You won't need to hunt in another vampire's territory."

He looked up at her. "Valid point. But that still doesn't make this any more palatable."

"Well, don't look at me. I'm all tapped out." Clearly she couldn't help a meaningful glance at Mick.

"Do I ever get to live that down?"

"Nope," she said. "So do you want to use the microwave or not?"

"I'll pass." Closing his eyes and holding his breath, Henry tipped the glass up at his lips and gulped with all due haste, rather like a child taking unsavory medicine. When he was done he handed the glass back to Mick.

"Not all so bad, now, is it?"

"I would not want to make it a habit."

Vicki took both glasses from Mick, carrying them by her fingertips, and put them in the sink with the blood bag and soaked towel. She paused a moment to consider the gruesome mess.

"Sorry. I got...distracted. I'll clean it up."

"You better." She headed for her desk. "All right. If we're done with the pleasantries, can we get to work now?"

Henry gave Mick an ambivalent look. The jury was still out apparently on whether or not the whole airplane debacle had really been resolved between them or, for that matter, ever would be. But out loud he said, "Sure. Let's."

They gathered around her desk which was covered by a detailed map of greater Toronto, an enormous territory. "We should investigate prime hunting grounds first. I frequented here, here and here." Henry pointed out the university campus, downtown waterfront and Regent Park. "Of course, those are my preferences. Since we're dealing with one of your sort maybe we should just stake out the blood banks instead?"

Ignoring the barb, Mick shook his head. "I already did that this afternoon. There is no trace of vampires having been at any of them. At least not recently."

There was just enough of a pause for Mick to understand that Henry had not appreciated the unintentional reminder of Mick's ability to walk in daylight. To Henry this must have been as ominous as the sword was to Mick. He looked up and met Henry's gaze squarely. "It's your city. How do we start?"

"Not anymore," Henry conceded, turning back to the map. "We should split up. I take Regent Park, you the university campus and immediate surroundings. We can then move to the waterfront together."

"Where I'll be."

As one they turned to Vicki leaning across the other side of the desk.

"No you're not," said Mick. "You have yourself a nice steak dinner with wine on me and get a good night's sleep."

"Oh, come on!"

"No, Vicki. You're not coming."

"Why, Henry? Because we're hunting vamps? Oooohh! I'm scared."

"Yes. I know you're not. That's why you're not coming."

"The vampire we're hunting is unpredictable and known to be ruthless with humans," said Mick, trying not to think about the implications of this too closely. Knowing it was one thing. Saying it made it real. "And we don't know if she has help. We can't be worrying about you too."

"Aw, that's sweet, Mick, but I can take care of myself."

"No, Vicki," Henry said patiently, but when she opened her mouth for another argument, his tone changed considerably. "_I said no!_"

It wouldn't be all so simple as telling her, of course, however strongly. Mick had not expected it to be and, he suspected, Henry hadn't either. He had to threaten her with locking her up and Mick had to back him up on this conviction before the crazy woman convincingly agreed to go have a good dinner and call it an early night. She made a sullen heap of malcontent as they bundled her into the cab they had called for her and watched it drive away.

"You two deserve each other," Mick said, watching the tail lights vanish in the swirling snow down the street.

"Yes. We do," Henry agreed, an unmistakable undercurrent of joy in his voice. Mick wondered if he would ever feel anything like it again. He had come so close that day just before Beth had been taken from him. He couldn't imagine being without her now. If they didn't find her in time, if she was lost to him….

"We'll find her, Mick. I promise."

Lost in thought, Mick had allowed himself to become transparent to the other vampire. He nodded and expanded his senses into the night, seeking but finding nothing. "I'll hold you to that, Henry. I'll hold you to that."


	7. Mosquito Bites

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 7: Mosquito Bites

Mick lost track of how many bars, clubs and lounges he had toured by now. In all of them he scented for traces of vampire that were never there. He hung at the bars for a while and brought out the picture of Beth. No, no one had seen her—though the more inebriated males didn't hesitate to tell him that they certainly wished they had. He also produced the other picture, the black and white printout of a security camera capture of Cynthia, with similar results.

Frustration was setting in. This city had swallowed her up, and there had to be a better way to find her than trolling the streets. By one-thirty in the morning, perched on a bar stool at Grossman's Tavern around the corner from the University of Toronto, he was at the verge of calling Henry for another update on his progress when a whiff of something familiar invaded his sensitive nose. Putting the phone away, he closed his eyes and drew in breath. There it was, faint but there. Blood. Vampire. Fully alert now, he scanned the line of weathered regulars lining the grimy bar. They were drinking away their miseries as a blues artist belted out despairing ballads of loneliness that did nothing for Mick's general disposition.

At the far end sat a particularly despondent soul, staring blindly into his glass, his square jaw tight under a day's growth of beard. He leaned heavily onto the bar, shoulders hunched, head half buried in the collar of his coat.

Mick pulled the phone out after all and pressed the speed dial he had programmed earlier that evening. The call lasted all of five seconds. Henry was on his way.

"Want some company?" Mick ventured as he came up behind his suspect. The closer he got the more distinct was the scent of vampire and blood. This fellow was obviously human, but he kept some very non-human company. Short of Cynthia herself, this was exactly what Mick had hoped to find.

His new friend had other ideas though. "Don't think so."

Mick leaned against the bar companionably. "Oh well. I do." Gesturing for the bartender, he called, "Two of what he's having."

"Well if you're buying, how can I refuse," said the friend without enthusiasm.

"I was hoping you could help me actually."

That earned him a suspicious glare. "I doubt it."

He brought out the two pictures. "Have you seen either of these women?"

The man studied the images while Mick studied him. There was no trace of recognition. "No. Sure haven't. Why are you looking for them?"

"I'm a private investigator working on…. Did I say something funny?"

The man shook his head, grinning, and ran a hand through his unkempt, dirty blond hair. "No. No, nothing. Long story," he added, sobering.

Two glasses were set before them, spilling part of their contents onto the sticky bar. Mick took one and emptied it halfway. Scotch. He considered downing the rest, but seeing the man's eyes on him, he decided against it. He wasn't drunk. Just unhappy. And very much observant.

"All right, I'll bite. Why are you looking for them?"

"One was abducted by the other."

"A female abducting a female. Don't hear that a lot. Bet there was a guy involved." He tossed back the remnants of his original drink.

As he did so, Mick spied the two small puncture wounds in his muscular neck just below the left ear. They were fresh. "One is a vampire," he said flatly.

The man gave Mick a long, searching look, his blue eyes suddenly intense with speculation. Then he chuckled, a warm and pleasant sound. "Oh, c'mon. You don't really believe that, do you?"

"Of course I do. And you do too."

He reached for the new drink but didn't pick it up. All pretense at levity evaporated. "Just what is your problem anyway?"

"I'm looking for a young woman being held hostage by a vampire. It's a big problem. I need all the help I can get."

"And you think I can provide that help because…?"

Mick indicated the man's throat with a pointed look, tilted his head and touched his own neck.

"Mosquito bites," he said flatly.

"Yeah. They're vicious this time of year."

At the other side of the room, a snow-dusted shape entered the main hallway, spotted them and moved into their direction. Though instantly aware of him, Mick did not acknowledge Henry.

The man sighed, resigned. "Look. I can't help you. But for what it's worth, you have my sympathies. I know what that feels like, loosing someone you love to something you're powerless against. I wish you luck finding her." His weary face seemed to indicate that Mick would also need all the luck he could get.

But Mick wasn't about to settle for wishes. "Can you get me in touch with…the mosquito?"

His hoped-for new friend tapped the edge of his drink, thinking. A moment later he pushed the glass toward Mick and got up. "I don't think I know you well enough to be having this conversation in the middle of the night. Thanks for the…." He looked down at Mick's hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry, but I really can't let you leave without getting some answers."

"Are you mad? Do you even know what you're talking about?"

"Yes. I do." Mick let go of him. "Please. Tell me what _you_ know. It's important."

"Like hell you do, punk," he said below his breath and turned to go. But then he stopped, suddenly looking like he had been punched in the gut. Henry looked up at him with a serene, sad beauty. "Fitzroy. I thought I felt an evil wind tonight."

"Celluci," said Henry. "Nice to hear you missed me."

With a low sigh, Mick picked up his drink and this time did finish it. Considering all he knew already of Henry's convoluted personal history with humans, he really should have seen this one coming. If not for the fact that lives were at stake he might actually be entertained.

"You were supposed to be gone a month ago, Fitzroy, and Vicki with you."

"I'm back for a visit. And she never came with me. Something about a man with a single lifetime, she said," Henry added with a small shrug loaded with meaning.

The man, Celluci, tightened his jaw. "You should have made her."

"Does anyone make her do anything?"

"Right." Pause. "We had this discussion, Henry. She needs you, not me."

"She knows that now that you've made it abundantly clear to her. Couldn't you at least have mustered the courage to tell her outright instead of pretending to have left the city? She thinks you fell off the face of the Earth."

"I _did!_ Hell, Henry, I don't even have a job anymore! I had _everything_ before you walked into my life. Now I have nothing. _Nothing!_" He hadn't raised his voice, but the vehemence of his tone was enough to make several heads turn. Henry just stood there, silent." And that's all I can offer her. Nothing."

Mick waved reassuringly at some curious stares, indicating that exactly nothing serious was afoot. "Come on, my friend. Have a seat and calm down," he cajoled.

Celluci turned to Mick as though he had only just noticed him there. "I'm sorry, but who the hell are you again?"

"Mick St. John. Private investigator."

"That's not what I meant. What's your connection to the Prince of Darkness here?" He stabbed a finger into Henry's chest. The vampire patiently stood his ground and made no response to the affront. Henry was apparently willing to let this guy rant as he pleased.

"We…ah, work together."

"Oh, you poor son of a bitch," Celluci said with feeling. "Your life is about to get so fucked up."

"It is already. Trust me."

"Mike, this obstinate pain in the ass, as it were, is a cousin of mine."

Mick nodded. "That too. The cousin part. And the obstinate. Not the pain in the ass, sorry."

Henry gave him a long-suffering look. Mick smiled. _Pain in the ass it is then. My pleasure!_

"Cousin," Mike repeated, looking between them carefully. Mick saw the tumblers in his brain fall into place. The guy was bright, no doubt about it. With a heavy sigh, he climbed back onto the bar stool. "Blood…cousins, I take it?" Their silence was answer enough. "Gee. No ripping out of hearts and slashing of throats? Did I miss the signing of the peace treaty?"

"No peace treaty," said Henry. "Temporary partnership—or insanity."

"I'm very tolerant," said Mick.

"You'd have to be around him," Celluci agreed. "OK. So just how many of you are there now? Here in Toronto?"

"We're not sure. But we're trying to find them. Does your friend the...er...mosquito know anything?"

"That would be Amara?" Henry asked.

Mike glowered at him. "What is it to you?"

"I'm merely surprised. You are the last person I would have expected to take up with a nightwalker."

"Well, Fitzroy, unlike some unfortunates crawling the streets at night, humans change. And seeing how well all that worked out for Vicki, I thought I'd give it a try. I've got nothing else to lose but my life, after all, so why not go out in a blaze of ecstasy?"

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"Did Vicki?" he snapped under his breath. "And why the hell would you care anyway?"

"I care because Vicki would care."

"Oh, save your sympathies."

"Can we get back to business here?" Mick tried.

"Where is she, Fitzroy? Is she even still human?"

"She's here where's she's always been. And very much alive, yes."

"But?"

Mick seized the moment. "But nothing, Mike. Tell us what Amara knows about the vampires in town right now."

Celluci reluctantly turned his attention from Henry. "She knows they're here, but…." He shook his head. "She's just a kid and new here. She doesn't want to confront anyone without them getting aggressive in her territory first."

"So there is more than one?"

"How many do you count here, Fitzroy?"

"Mike…."

Mick held up a shushing hand to Henry who, mercifully, took the hint. "More than one more other than the two of us, you're saying?"

Mike took a swig of Scotch, nodded. "Yeah. She seems to think so. But I don't think she knows about you two."

"She has help then," Henry observed.

"Who?"

"The vampire we're looking for, Cynthia," Mick explained. "She's one of the pictures I showed you."

"And the other one is your...?" Mick said nothing. He didn't have to. Surely it was written all over his face. "For crying out loud, what is it with you guys and human women?"

"You're involved with a vampire female. You tell me," said Henry.

"Ah. Right. Ego thing. I get it."

Seeing Henry gear up for a retort, Mick jumped in. "Mike, where do we find Amara?"

"Oh, come on. You know better than to ask me that."

"Then will you talk to her for us?"

He shook his head. "No. Since the others came, she…sometimes meets me here, but I don't go near her. Says she's afraid I'll become a target." He looked over his shoulder. "That sounds familiar, Fitzroy, doesn't it? Now I know how Vicki felt when your charming ex hit town."

"Mike, I'm only going to ask you nicely once," said Henry. "Take us to her."

"Or what?"

"You know what."

"Don't even…."

"Take us to her," Henry repeated, his voice taking on a dark, preternatural vibration.

Celluci screwed his eyes shut. "You bastard! Fine! Fine, I'll take you."

"I wouldn't do it if it wasn't important."

"Right," Celluci spat and pushed past him toward the exit. "You're still an all around bastard."

"I know," Henry said softly, watching him go.

"Friend of yours, huh?" Mick asked, finishing the deserted drink. It would sit warm in his stomach and calm his impatient nerves for a while. Henry looked at him, resentment brooding in his eyes. Mick tried to hide a smile with only marginal success. Dropping several bills on the bar, he got up. "Let's go find this Amara and Cynthia and Beth. The sooner we do," he added, clapping a brotherly hand on Henry's shoulder, "the sooner I'll be out of your life."

"We should hurry then."

"Thought you might say that." As one they darted through the crowd in pursuit of Mike Celluci. "But before I go, you have to teach me that mind control thing you do. That could come in handy."

Mick was fairly sure he heard the other vampire groan.


	8. Amara

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 8: Amara

Amara's lair was everything modern fiction would envision of a proper vampire's den. Situated in an upscale suburb of Toronto, the house matched its neighbors in impressive size and meticulously manicured gardens but little else. It sported a red brick façade and tiered, gabled roofline, perfectly square windows with Victorian lace curtains, an entryway covered in stained glass murals of conquistadors on horseback, and a verdigris weather vane gently squeaking at the apex of a round, windowless turret rising above the back of the house. A giant oak dominated the front yard, its barren branches spreading a protective canopy across the yard and even the house. Ivy skeletons covered most of the lower half of the structure, and Mick thought how lush the house and its yard would look on a summer afternoon, a vista the owner would never know.

But by far Mick's favorite touches were the gargoyles. The winged demons perched on pedestals on either end of the curved driveway, threatening all who would dare approach. They also sat under the steeples, hovered to either side of the doorway and held up wrought iron lamps casting thick golden light across the snow-encrusted gardens. "Not one for obscurity, is she?"

Mike turned to look at Mick and Henry in the backseat. "I told you she's young. Hasn't got the hang of this life yet, I don't think. I'm trying to get her to tone it down a bit."

Henry made no effort to hide his astonishment. "_You_ are giving a vampire lessons on how to be...a vampire?"

"She asked me to when I told her I knew a certain royal pain in the ass. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Shall I enumerate them for you, Ex-detective?"

"How young is young?" Mick interjected before the conversation could get off track any further.

"Fifty. Something. Give or take."

"By God! It's the handicapped leading the inept!"

"I'm warning you. You harm her…."

"Don't you feel like you're robbing the crypt, Celluci?"

"We have no intention of causing her harm," Mick promised.

"You're not the one I'm worried about. You do remember this is no longer your territory, right Fitzroy?"

Henry flopped back into the seat and lifted both hands in supplication. "Please. I haven't even hunted since I got here." He was still smirking with amusement.

"It's true," Mick confirmed at Mike's doubtful look.

"All right then. You two stay right here until I call you."

Mike got out of the car and headed up the paved driveway past the gargoyle to the stained glass entry. Only one upstairs window glowed with a warm yellow light. From the backseat in the car across the street the two predators lay in wait under cover of inky darkness.

Mike's knocking was answered after a while by another light coming on in the foyer and the door opening slowly. A small female figure appeared silhouetted against the glow within. The preternatural observers had no trouble hearing the hushed conversation that ensued.

"_Amor_, what are you doing here? I told you not to come." Her voice was low and husky and tinged with a lyrical Latin accent.

"I couldn't stay away. I miss you."

"It is dangerous. You should not be here." But even as she said it, she kissed him tenderly in welcome.

Mike touched her face and the tousled black hair that framed it. "Amara, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. But you must go."

"No. No. I'm sorry I brought them here. They...didn't…."

Alarmed, Amara scanned the yard and street and within seconds spied the occupants of Mike's car. She immediately growled a warning, fangs bared. They could hear the fear as clear as a crystal goblet being struck. "What have you done, Mike? What have you done?!"

"Please listen to me. They just want to talk to you about the others. They're looking for them too. They mean you no harm. They just want your help."

"_My_ help? Why? How?"

"Let them tell you. Please. For me." She made no response either way and Mike motioned toward the car.

"No sudden moves," Henry whispered as they got out.

"You don't say?"

The closer they got, walking slowly, the faster her heart raced. Clearly she recognized Henry Fitzroy, knew his age and power, and perceived him as a mortal threat. But she stood her ground and stopped herself from taking refuge behind Mike, though it was a near thing judging by the tiny gestures she made in his direction.

"That is far enough," she warned when they were about ten feet away.

Mick tried for charming. His smile widened, bright and innocent. "Good evening. May we come in?"

Wrong move. Amara let loose a hissing growl loud enough to scare a witless cat out of a nearby bush and send it scampering down the street, all its fur standing on end.

Henry dropped a courtly bow to her, impeccably royal. "Please excuse my young associate, my lady. He is from California."

"Oh," Mike said, rolling his eyes. "Well, that explains everything." When he saw Mick's bafflement, he shrugged.

"We humbly request passage in your territory and your gracious assistance should it please you to grant it," Henry went on. "We do not request hunting rights."

Mick shot him an askance glance. _Surprise, surprise._

These assurances seemed to calm the lady somewhat. She took a deep breath before replying. "I grant your request." Not that she could have done otherwise. She was clearly still very unsure of her abilities and strengths. If not for whatever rules she and Henry lived by, she likely wouldn't have had a prayer. But those rules—and Henry's honor in following them—granted her the dignity of being a hostess instead of a victim. Even if she was receiving her guests barefoot and clad only in a black silk dressing gown.

"Oh good," Mike said. "Now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, can we go inside? Because as the minority species here, I'm freezing my ass off."

Amara looked uncertain but nodded.

She led them to a library just off the main hallway. A huge chandelier steeped the room in a mellow light, and polished dark wood shelves lined every wall from floor to ceiling, laden with bulky, faded tomes from bygone eras. Only some of the books looked like they might have been printed in the last decade or two. There even was a section of carefully rolled, fragile looking scrolls. Henry immediately paced the perimeter of the room, across the fine oriental rugs and shiny hardwood floors, his eyes scanning across every title with avid interest. "Where did you get these?" He pulled one particularly hefty volume from its resting place. "I have been looking for this for two centuries at least."

"I am a scholar of obscure, ancient history. I used to teach it at the University of Madrid."

"Before you were turned?"

"Yes."

Having shed his coat, Mike moved to a sideboard and poured himself a drink. "Don't let her fool you, Fitzroy. This lady has some serious gumption. She knew of and believed in your kind long before she ever met one."

"Please,_ amor,_" she said softly. Her bobbed hair covered part of her face as though she were hiding, and large, almond-shaped black eyes peered at them with what Mick realized was forced bravado. She was still very much on guard, terrified even.

Mike was not to be deterred. "She tracked down a vampire for the express purpose of being turned. That was—what?—thirteen, fifteen years ago now?"

"Why would you want to do a thing like that?" Mick asked, failing miserably at trying not to sound judgmental.

"I was dying of cancer."

Mick had no immediate response to that. Somehow it was the last thing he had expected to hear. She tilted her chin up and held his gaze, daring him to refute her reasoning. "Is it everything you hoped for?" he finally ventured.

There was no hesitation. "Yes. Except for the sun. But I miss it less every year."

Henry did not look up from the book which he appeared to be speed-reading in its entirety. "Too bad you did not find one of St. John's sort then. He moves about in daylight at will."

Amara looked at him with sharpened interest. "You do?"

"Well, I don't exactly lie around working on my tan. But I can tolerate it in small doses, yes. I don't think we have been introduced, by the way," he added, extending his hand. "I'm Mick St. John, private investigator."

"Vampire at large," Henry added.

"From California," Mike finished. "What a riot."

"And I don't have any of his issues." He indicated Henry with a nod of his head.

Taking his hand, Amara produced a first, tentative smile. "Pleasure." She studied him closely, fear draining before a tide of curiosity that lit her face. She was beautiful in the way of a fully-grown and experienced woman, not a barely ripe girl.

"The court of the Sun King of France. The revolution. The great purge. What do you know of these?"

"A little outside of my time frame," Mick admitted. "But part of my history as I understand it."

"This is most amazing. According to the ancient scripts, there were two, but a formal record of only one survives. The other remains legend. But I had always wondered at the possibility."

"Well, wonder no more. There are many of us."

This time she returned the smile openly. "What else can you do?"

"I tell you what he can't do," Henry answered, sliding the book back into its slot on the shelf and joining them. "He has no control over humans."

Physical violence looked tempting to Mick, but he stayed his hand—and fangs—in deference to being a guest in another's house.

"Oh, I like him better all the time," said Mike. All three vampires looked over where he sat nursing his drink in a huge leather wing chair. "Fine, fine. I'm shutting up. Just ignore the human yapping in the corner."

Mick turned back to Amara. "What do you know about my kind?"

"Only what I've come across in my studies. The exact time is uncertain, but I estimate that it happened somewhere between eight hundred and five hundred years BC in Scandinavia." Amara turned and walked along the shelves, stopped, stared at a book on the top shelf and narrowed her eyes in thought as though reading it from the pages of her memory. "It started with the death of a young woman named Dagmar. She was kind and beautiful and loving, and her husband, Colby, became so distraught that he begged Hel, the Norse goddess of the underworld, to release her and take him instead. He wandered the frozen wastelands for years, crying to be heard. Nor did Dagmar in all that time find peace in Hel's domain. Remember that this place was not always considered the place of eternal suffering it has been made out to be by Christianity," she explained with a glance over a shoulder at her rapt audience. "It was a place of leisure and reward for heroism in life. But Dagmar remained inconsolable over being parted from her love. It is written that even Hel's heart could not withstand their sorrow and so she devised a solution for them to be together once more. At a price, of course. Anyone want to tell me what happened?" she finished, effectively completing her metamorphosis into a university professor.

"Vampires?" Mike ventured before the vampires themselves had found their tongues.

"Yes. Vampires. She granted them immortality. But the price of that immortality was the day and, of course, blood." She came nearer again. "Colby accepted this, it is said, but Dagmar could not. Very soon she could not live near him in the night, drinking blood, exacting such a punishment upon the people she had once loved. She left him."

"Territorial instincts," reasoned Henry.

"Possibly. But when I learned of the others, those who came to prominence with the great purge during the French Revolution, I began to wonder if there was not more to it than that. You see, I came across another ancient text that mentions that Dagmar was not entirely at the mercy of the sun as Colby was, but he did not wish her to know the day because he could not. It may have been enough of a source of discontent between them to cause them to part company."

"Another relationship bites the dust," Mike said to no one in particular from the wing chair.

"So...I am a descendant of Dagmar's?"

"It is as good an explanation as you are likely to find. But the powers you lack because of her you more than make up for by not being limited by the sun and..." she looked at Henry "...not having the same territorial requirements."

"I like it," said Henry. "It is love that spawned us. What better reason could there be?"

"You are a romantic," Amara observed.

"That I am," he agreed, taking her hand in his and planting a kiss on her knuckles, a maneuver that left her visibly startled.

"But what about this Norse goddess? Who was she really?"

"What do you mean, Mick?"

"I mean there is no such thing as gods and goddesses. Those truly are legends."

Henry and Amara looked at him solemnly. "Many would say that we are also," she offered.

He opened his mouth to argue, but his mind drew a blank. The logic was irrefutable and staggering in its implications. "You're saying there is a whole other side to history and…reality, aren't you?"

Henry smiled at him indulgently. "You really are clueless, aren't you?"

Mick looked around at the walls of books, each one loaded cover to cover he was sure with truths he dared not imagine. He nodded to himself and decided that he quite preferred being clueless. "Thank you for sharing this with me, Amara. It means a lot to me to know, and I will make sure that others learn their history as well." She inclined her head graciously. "And speaking of others, one or more other descendants of Dagmar's may be in your city, and they have a hostage that is very important to me. Can you help us find them?"

Her face clouded. "Yes. I have sensed them along the outskirts of the city for several days now. They hunt there indiscriminately and bury their victims in the Kortright Conservation. The humans have yet to find any of them."

"Do you know where their lair might be?" Henry queried.

"No." She averted her eyes for a moment. "As long as they do not invade the city itself, I will not move against them."

Mick thought that she would be hard pressed to move against them even if Cynthia came knocking on her front door. A gentler soul had never been born to darkness. Nor, in the case of Cynthia Davis, a more cunningly vicious one. He looked at Henry and saw that for once they were on the same page. "We will find them and remove them from your territory. Permanently."

"I would be most grateful to you," she said softly.

"Consider it done," said Henry with a small bow.

Mick glanced at his watch. Four-thirty AM. Still a little time. "Mike, can you…? Mind if we borrow your car?"

The sole human in the room clearly wasn't willing or able to do any more driving tonight. Lounging in his wing chair, empty glass to hand, Mike looked hazily contented. Pulling the keys from his pocket, he tossed them at Mick who caught them easily. "Don't let him drive."

"I _am_ planning to get there and back before dawn."

"Good point."

"I would just as soon get there and back in one piece actually," Henry griped.

Mick ignored him. "Thanks for your help Mike. Amara. Pleasure meeting both of you."

"Thank you for what you are about to do," said Amara. "Both of you." She hesitated before adding. "To aid you in your efforts, I give you leave to move in my territory as you see fit during your stay here. You may also hunt as you require."

A grin instantly split Henry's face. He dropped a deep, courtly bow to her. "My undying gratitude, my lady. Consider all your enemies vanquished before me."

"Oh great," they heard Mike grumble behind them. "Now you've done it."

* * *

_AN: Although Amara is a figment of my imagination, her house is not. This actually exists in my town, and every time I see it I wonder who lives there. It's been years now and I still have no idea. Which rather nicely frees up my imagination, of course._


	9. John, Beth and Mike Doe

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 9: John, Beth and Mike Doe

By the time Vicki realized that her phone ringing was not a dream, the annoying sound had already ceased. She sat up in bed and immediately bent forward to hold her pounding head in both hands. "Ow! Motherof_god_!" she cursed in a pained whimper. Flopping back into her pillows, she waited for the room to stop spinning and the nausea to subside.

From the next room came her own voice curtly telling the caller to leave a message. "Hi Vicki. This is Dr. Mohatevan. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but I got called in this morning and, well, I thought you might want to see this. I'll be here until noon. I'll try your cell phone too."

Vicki turned her head. The clock read 10:30. Daylight filtered in from behind the drawn curtains. She reached for the cell phone just as it started chirping.

"Hello? Hello, Vicki?"

"Uhm."

"Are you all right? Where are you?"

"In bed. Rough night with a bottle of red wine." _And way not enough blood,_ she amended silently. The disconcerting combination had effectively curtailed her plans for the remainder of the night. She was fairly sure she had passed out in the cab on the way home and then barely crawled into her bed, her last conscious thought one of Henry and Mick just having to do without her after all.

"Oh. I'm sorry to..."

"No, it's OK. What's going on?"

"Well, I got a new client in this morning who had a rather specialized experience that I thought you might be able to help with."

Vicki dropped an elbow across her eyes. "What did he die of?"

"Mangled throat, dismemberment...drained of all blood." Vicki only sighed. Yep, her line of expertise all right. "Do you know anything about this, Vicki?"

"I might. Unfortunately. I'll be there in an hour."

Forty-five minutes later, Vicki, freshly cleaned up and infused with a mega-dose of caffeine, walked into her office. It was on the way to the morgue and the only place she knew to look for clues about the previous night. Neither of her voice mailboxes held messages from either Henry or Mick. Whatever happened while she had indulged in her prescribed dinner with wine, they had decided not to share it with her. And something had definitely happened. Her detective radar was up and operating and considered all the signs ominous at best.

Her office was an icebox. Not only was the heat off but several windows stood cracked open and the closed blinds swayed softly with the wind seeping in. There was even a dusting of snow on the floorboards beneath them. In the half-light sat Henry's casket, closed and silent. She tried the lid and found it unlocked. Her disappointment quickly gave way to a start when she spied the still, dark shape of a figure within. The lid slipped from her fingers and the crack of it smashing back down nearly cleaved her head in two. A moment later the lid rose on its own, accompanied by a groggy voice. "Was that really necessary?"

"Mick," she said, relieved. "Where's Henry?"

He pushed the lid all the way open and sat up. There wasn't a stitch of clothing on him as far as she could see. Vicki tried but failed to politely avert her eyes.

"Good morning, Mick," said Mick. "I'm so sorry to wake you up at this ungodly hour."

Vicki blinked at him, then hurriedly parroted back the words, tagging "Where's Henry?" to the end.

Mick combed his fingers through his thick hair and scratched the back of his head. He looked as tired as she felt. "Not here. Don't think he trusts me in the daytime anymore. Can't imagine why."

"Yeah. Me neither." Henry was in the city somewhere, dead and vulnerable, and she had no idea where. She had no way of protecting him. She felt more than a little peeved with this state of affairs. "So what happened last night?"

"We found a good lead."

"How good?"

"Pretty good."

"Are you still half asleep or are you trying to be obstinate?"

Mick groaned. "Vicki, what do you want from me?"

"Do you know anything about the dismembered, blood-drained body that turned up this morning?"

He turned to her with interest. "What do you know about it?"

"I asked you first!" She winced at the sound of her own raised voice. _No shouting,_ she admonished herself.

"Yes, I know about the bodies. No, we had nothing to do with them."

"I didn't say you did. Them?"

"Yes. Vamp victims, all of them. Kortright Conservation. It's being used as a dumping ground. By the time we got there it was too late to do more than confirm that. Unfortunately it snowed."

"Huh?"

"Tracks. We made them. Obviously someone found them this morning and followed them. Your turn. How do you know about it?"

"The coroner is a friend of mine. She calls me when she gets special 'clients' like that. I'm on my way over there now."

"Mind if I come along? I really didn't get a good look last night."

"If you can stay awake." They looked at each other for a long moment. Mick made no move to get out of his ominous bed. Finally he glanced pointedly at the pile of clothes he had left on the sofa. "Oh," said Vicki. "Oh, right. I'll just...just be outside."

Mick still had a mussed look about him a little while later when he hunched his long, elegant shape into the passenger seat of her little car. The collar of his coat was turned up, the large dark glasses covered most of his pale face and he kept one hand ready to block out the sun at every turn. The day was brilliant after the previous night's storm. The sky wasn't just blue; it was the sort of blue you could get drunk on, deep and rich like a sea of souls. And everywhere the sun sparkled and glittered off a thin blanket of icy white. Vicki could appreciate it even though she could no longer see it the way she once had. She remembered it though. And even the hint of the beauty of such a day touched her heart with bittersweet longing and regret.

"Walking might be faster," said Mick, tearing her out of her reverie.

"I drive slow. Deal with it."

"You would do Henry proud."

"So glad to hear that," she snapped. "For your information, I'm still half-way inebriated on account of your insistence that I get a steak dinner_and_ wine."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Good for blood production. Just what the doctor ordered.."

"I don't know why you bother. You have to know that I'm not giving you seconds."

"Who said I wanted seconds?"

"And you still owe me for that, buster, you know..."

"STOP!"

Vicki slammed the breaks, rousing a piercing shriek from the tires. The pedestrian she had nearly flattened, pounded an angry fist onto the hood of her car. "Watch where'reye goin', bitch!" he hollered and shot her a meaningful gesture involving a middle finger. Vicki sat nailed to her seat, cold with terror at what she had almost done. The near-victim, a homeless man judging by the ragged appearance, shuffled away.

"What the hell is the matter with you? How could you miss that guy? Are you blind?"

Vicki closed her eyes. She kept her foot jammed on the break and her hands locked to the stirring wheel to control the violent shivers racing through her body. "Yes," she whispered.

"Excuse me? What?"

"Yes. I'm blind. Or will be. Soon. I think you better drive." She summoned all her strength to put the car in park right where it was and climb out, completely ignoring the angry honks from the line building behind them. Mick ran to take her arm and help her to the passenger side seat. He waved apologetically to the waiting cars and the honking ceased a bit when they spotted a medical emergency in progress.

Vicki sank into the seat and concentrated on simply breathing. She wanted to throw up.

"What's wrong with your eyes?" Mick asked when they had safely resumed their travels.

"Retinitis Pigmentosa. It's incurable. I don't drive at night. Probably should stop driving at day."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm adjusting." Sometimes adjusting was just more of a bitch than others. She picked up the coffee mug thermos and drank what remained of the contents in silence. By the time they reached the morgue, she was feeling better—or at least better enough to stand up and form coherent sentences. She'd never say so, but she was grateful for Mick hovering about her protectively, even if this did make her feel vaguely like he expected her to crash into a wall at any moment.

Dr. Mohatevan ruled the morgue like a diminutive dark queen of the underworld. With black hair tightly bound back and IPod securely plugged into her ears, she was deeply engrossed in her latest client—or what there was of him. Her large black eyes bugged with fascination as she peered into a magnifying glass at whatever she was teasing with tweezers under the jaw of a partially severed head. Somehow it wasn't what Vicki needed to see right now, but she steeled herself and moved forward.

"Vicki. I'm so glad you're here."

"Can't really say the same, Doc." Mohatevan peered around her expectantly. "Oh. This is my client, Mick St. John. He's a PI from the States pursuing a case that may be connected."

"Welcome to Toronto," Mohatevan said brightly. "I hope you brought a strong stomach."

"His stomach I wouldn't worry about."

Mick was already studying the remains with clinical detachment, his eyes darting from place to place like laser beams, his nostrils flaring with curiosity. "Definitely connected," he said.

"Ah," said the coroner, her interest piqued. "You specialize in these types of cases as well, do you?"

"You might say that."

"Then what is your assessment of our patient here?"

Mick gave her a probing look before glancing at Vicki.

Vicki shrugged. "Whatever you tell her, she's probably already figured it out." In truth, she had no idea how much Mohatevan really _really_ knew. They never had that discussion. But the interesting cases just kept piling up in the morgue and she had likely seen enough of Henry in his capacity as her partner to put two and two together somewhere along the line. If so, Doctor Mohatevan clearly opted to let things be and exercised studied discretion in her official reports.

Mick turned to the "patient," formerly a young male of Middle Eastern or Asian descent. It was hard to tell with all the damage to his face. "Fingernails here for the most part. Over here canines. Hand print here. The head was ripped off, not severed. Same with this arm. More fingernail marks on the lower arm." He tilted his head to consider the flayed thigh muscle. "Someone was hungry."

"Yes. My thoughts exactly. But I'd venture to say that there was more than one. There are two distinct bite and claw patterns here."

"What are you saying?" said Vicki. "Two of them fought over this guy and tore him apart?"

"It looks that way."

"It certainly does," Mick agreed. "Ferals."

Vicki frowned. "Ferals?"

"It's what happens to…when they are turned and abandoned by their sire. They become wild animals. The only solution is to put them out of their misery."

"Interesting concept," said Mohatevan. "Would they also bury the remains though?"

"No. Someone else..." He trailed off, eyes narrowing, leaning closer to the savaged throat.

"I see you have found it too. I was just about to extract it. If you'll excuse me?" Mohatevan moved in with the magnifying glass and tweezers. A moment later, she straightened and held a single strand up to the light. She and Mick stared at it.

Vicki squinted. "What is it?"

"A blond hair," the coroner reported. "Not from our patient, clearly."

Mick reached to take the tweezers and its clutched treasure and looked at it even more closely. The long, single hair drifted gently in the air before him, kinked and matted with blood for the most part, but gleaming honey gold in several places. Vicki watched his face slowly lose some of its careful composure, and her heart sank as she understood what it was he was seeing.

"It's Beth's, isn't it?" she asked gently.

Mick nodded once and handed the evidence back to the coroner.

"I'm sorry," said Mohatevan.

He nodded again and walked out of the autopsy room without a word.

Mohatevan looked after him thoughtfully. "Not just a client, is she?"

"No," said Vicki. "She's not. Doc, how would her hair…get there?"

"She must have been very near by, in the same room at least if not much closer."

Vicki's gaze dropped back to the mangled corpse. Beth, if she still lived at the time, must have been terrorized to witness such a thing. "Thanks for the look, Doc. I'll see what I can do about finding who did this. Let me know if any more come in?"

"Of course. And Vicki? Is Henry Fitzroy on this case with you?"

"Yes. He is."

"Good. You'll need him."

She found Mick in a deserted hallway near the exit, his arm and forehead up against the wall. Walking up behind him, she touched his back and felt him tremble. "Mick. She's still alive. You've got to believe that. We'll find her."

"Maybe she would be better off dead." He whispered.

"How can you say that?"

He looked up, his red-rimmed eyes luminous with the simmering power of his being. "Vicki. If Beth was... If she was there...she may have been one of the ones who did this."

"You mean...she may have been turned?"

"Yes. And allowed to turn feral."

"Are you sure?"

"No. But it's the only explanation I can see right now."  
"But you could help her, couldn't you?" He looked at her with such profound sadness it nearly undid her. "Yes. You can," she said quickly, gripping his shoulders for emphasis. "You love her, don't you? She trusts you. You can reach her. And maybe you're wrong about her being turned. Why would anyone do such a thing anyway?"

"To force me to destroy the one thing I love most," he said, his mouth twisting into a wry line.

"What? Why?"

He shook his head. "Long story. Another time maybe I'll tell you. C'mon. We need to go."

They rode back to her office in silence. Mick's initial despair quickly morphed into an anger and determination the intensity of which practically vibrated in the air around him as he navigated the streets and undoubtedly plotted gruesome murder. The very notion kept Vicki's tongue in check and encouraged her to remain still and obscure in the passenger seat.

Mick wedged her car into a parking space near her office with an uncanny precision and high velocity that made her grip the hand holds. "We move tonight when Henry is up," he declared. "Until then, I'm going back to the Kortright Conservation to take another look at those bodies and see if…there is anything else I missed." He paused, staring straight ahead. The brilliance of the day mirrored in the black sunglasses and lent a shimmering luster to the handsome planes of his face. "I think I better get something to eat first, though."

She led the way to her office door and inserted the key. "Uh oh. I know I locked this."

Mick immediately pushed her to one side and scented the air. Then he sighed. "How many people have your keys?"

"Excuse me?"

Mick made a weary gesture toward the door and Vicki opened it. She didn't get very far. Her jaw dropped at the man sitting behind her desk looking up from the map of the city that still lay there.

Mick squeezed past her and headed for the mini fridge. "Hi Mike," he said in passing.

"Oh that's just great. I should have known I'd find you here too."

Mick pulled a blood bag from the veggie bin, a glass from the sink, and obviously did his best to block Mike's view of what he was doing. "Don't worry. I'm not staying long. She's all yours."

"Mike?" Vicki finally said, bewildered. "What are you doing here? How do you know Mick? What is going on here?" Her world, like the room, was starting to spin around her.

Mike smiled. "Mick and I are old drinking buddies, aren't we Mick?"

Over by the sink, Mick gulped down his meal.

"_Drinking_ buddies?"

Getting to his feet, Mike leaned across the desk. "Damn it Vicki, what are you doing getting mixed up in this? Do you have any idea how much danger you're in?"

"No more than usual, thank you very much. And what are _you_ doing here? I don't hear from you for weeks, you disconnect all your phones, you completely disappear on me and now you break into my office…"

"With the key you gave me."

"…and act like you actually have a right to be here and question me! What is wrong with this picture!"

Mick rinsed the glass and made good his escape. "You two have fun figuring this out. I have work to do. See you tonight, Vicki."

Neither Vicki nor Mike so much as looked in his direction, their attention for each other alone. They heard his steps recede down the hall and the front door opening and closing. Mike cocked his head at her. "So instead of going to Vancouver with one of them, you stayed here and now have two. One even does daylight. How convenient. Business must be booming."

"He is my client," she ground out. "And I know exactly what they're doing and why. And you're way out of line." When he didn't immediately respond, she added, "And how the hell do you know him anyway?_Drinking_ buddies?"

He straightened and walked to the front of the desk. "Scotch. Last night."

"I see."

"They didn't tell you we met, did they?"

"Oh, so Henry was there too, was he?" This was just getting better and better.

"Yes, it was just like old times."

"So sorry I missed the reunion."

Mike came closer, blatantly crossing the line into her personal space. Not giving an inch, she stood looking up at him, studying his oh-so-familiar face, seeing all the tiny changes the last few weeks had made there. He looked older than she remembered, tired, and less polished around the edges. Detective Celluci no longer existed. And Mike Celluci the man was still a work in progress.

"Vicki, what is he doing back here? What are you doing here? You were supposed to go with him. Remember?"

"Well, I didn't."

"My God, why not?"

"I don't believe you're asking me this, Mike."

"Vicki…." He ran his hand through his untidy hair, looked away, back at her, and gave up on hiding his feelings on the matter. "Oh damn, Vicki. Why didn't you go with him?"

She took a small, tight breath, fighting for control. "Why did you go away, Mike?"

"Because…I have nothing else to give you. I can't provide for you. I can't protect you. I can't save you. I can't…." He faltered.

"Cure me?"

He looked down, unable to meet her accusing stare, and nodded. "Yes."

Born of an impulse she could not explain and unleashed by her exhaustion and hangover, Vicki punched him in the arm. Hard.

"What…?"

She hit him again. And again. And then again. She was more than capable of taking him down, but she was beyond that, lost in a very different haze where all she knew was that he had abandoned her. He became, suddenly, much more than a former lover and partner. He became everything that had ever been wrong with every man in her life—starting with her father. He became the tangible embodiment of all the hurt she had ever had to endure in solitude and silence. And she would be silent no more.

"You bastard!" she screamed on a sob, continuing to pelt him with white-knuckled fists. Mike blocked her as best he could though she was moving fast and landing punches on his chest and shoulders.

"Vicki. Vicki! Stop!"

"You bloody bastard!"

Mike finally caught one of her wrists then the other, which only made her kick at him in increasingly more sensitive places. "Stop, Vicki,_stop!_"

"You bastard!" she howled again, her face bright red and tear-streaked. "How could you do this to me? _Why_ would you do this to me!"

"Because I love you, you insufferable, bewildering, stark-raving-insane woman!" he shouted back into her face. She froze in mid-swing and gaped at him. "I love you," he said again. "And you need and deserve so much more than I can give."

Then, from one second to the next, she found herself pulled tightly against his lean, familiar body, arms pinned, forcing her to feel his breath on her face, smell his skin, hear his heart. She had no choice but to relent into a sobbing heap against his chest. Her hands clawed into the back of his coat. His arms wrapped around her, strong and safe and brooking no argument. Softly he whispered her name, his voice warm and soothing.

They might have stood there like this for mere seconds or minutes or maybe forever. Vicki didn't know. She drifted, numb. But after a while her mind dug out of the shock of seeing him again—of being held by him again—and slowly she pushed back, separated, wiped her eyes, and stood solidly on her own two feet once more.

"Mike, your love is all I ever needed. Don't you know that?"

"You have that, Vic. Always. And that's why I'm _begging_ you to let Henry…protect you."

She searched his face carefully. "You would want him to turn me then? Is that it?"

The answer was grudging but certain. "If that's what you wanted. Yes."

"Well, I don't want it," she said, turning away. It's what she always told herself whenever the question crossed her mind. She didn't want it. Absolutely not. Henry's dark magic had always been like a flame to her moth though, always tempting, decidedly deadly. _No, I don't want it._ But why did her voice falter when she said it aloud?

Mike had heard it too, she was sure, but to his credit he let it pass. "Fine," he said. "Then don't. But you still need him against the demons or whatever it is that's after you. He is the only one who can protect you from that."

The very mention of this made the tattoos at her wrists tingle. At this point they were as much a part of her as Henry. They defined her and bound her to him with more certainty than she had ever been bound to Mike. The fate that had reunited her with him had proved that point. Henry—and all that came with him—was her destiny. And in her heart she knew that she would accept the challenge.

"Right," she murmured, feeling light and free and exhausted at the same time. "You better go, Mike. I need to get some rest before tonight." Smiling wearily over her shoulder she added, "See you around."

"Yeah. See you around, Vic."

For a long time after he had gone she stood in the half-light, staring at nothing.


	10. Moonlight Hunt

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 10: Moonlight Hunt

Henry woke to the night as he always did, with a massive inhale of breath and a luxuriant stretch. Unlike the previous night, however, he was not confined by the close fit of the coffin and so it took him a moment to realize where he was. It had been a risk taking a room at the Renaissance Toronto downtown, but the risk of having his "Do Not Disturb" sign violated at an upscale establishment like this was minimal compared to what Mick St. John might have put him through next. Their differences made him tolerable on an instinctive level, but the day he would trust him again with his life would be long in coming.

Mentally reviewing the previous night's events, he marveled at Celluci's unsuspected mental flexibility. Humans were simply spectacular in their capacity to adapt. Once turned, a vampire's mind tended to become as rigidly fixed in time as his body, a fact he battled at every turn. Amara and her house were a prime example. He smiled remembering her, her charming offer and his heart-felt pledge. There was work to be done, and he had to get going.

First stop was the lobby bar where several potential servings of breakfast were already enjoying happy hour. After the wholly unsatisfying prepackaged fare of the previous night, he was in the mood for a double. Within moments he had enticed a couple to forget about their discussion involving an upcoming merger and accompany him to a quiet corner in a thus-far deserted lounge. Satisfied, he left them there several minutes later, feeling a bit light-headed and giddy, their minds swimming with the exotic and tantalizing pseudo-realities with which he had plied them.

It was almost eight o'clock by the time he strolled into Vicki's office.

"It's about time," Mick greeted.

"Good evening to you, too," he said but he had eyes only for Vicki, returning her welcoming smile in kind. His soul warmed at seeing her eyes soft and bright with relief at seeing him.

"Breakfast?" she asked.

"I got a bite on the way over."

Her smile faltered a little. "Oh."

"No, I'm definitely not making emergency rations a habit."

"What about the other vampire? What if she finds out that you're hunting in her territory?"

"I have her permission. It's all legitimate."

"Oh," Vicki said again, this time averting her gaze. Strange how that small gesture of hers suddenly weighed down his heart.

Mick cleared his throat. "We found out some things today."

"Tell me."

Henry listened carefully to their report on the day's events, and found himself sadly agreeing with Mick's assessment that it may well be too late for Beth. But as long as there was a pulse left in her, he felt there was hope and he told Mick so.

"Thanks. I checked the other bodies in the Conservation this afternoon. There's no other trace of her and they're all fresher. So you may be right."

Henry went to open the lid on the coffin and pulled out the sword that still lay there. He could smell St. John on the fabric but said nothing. He was welcome to the morbid thing. Slowly twisting the blade before him, Henry watched the light slide along the sharp edges before focusing his gaze on Mick who had reached behind him under his jacket and produced three long stakes of dark, polished wood.

"Not quite as lethal, but it will render them paralyzed." He gave Henry a questioning look.

Henry smiled. "You may keep those toys." It wasn't what St. John had wanted to know, but it was all the answer he was going to get.

Vicki picked up a backpack and moved to stand beside Mick. "I'm ready."

Henry frowned at her. "And where do you think you're going?"

"Mick and I talked about this. You two need me."

"We need someone to throw off our scent," Mick explained quickly while tucking the stakes back into their hiding place. "And draw them in."

"That's me," Vicki concurred. "I'm the bait." She flapped her arms in his direction and the smell of alcohol he had been vaguely aware of since entering the room grew stronger.

Extending his arm, Henry pointed the sword at them both. "Absolutely not!"

"This time you're not winning, buster. This time I have him on my side." She indicated Mick with a sideways nod of her head.

"Are you insane risking her life like this?!"

"We'll be very close to her. And there are two of us."

"Three!"

They all turned to the open door to see Mike Celluci coming down the hallway, his trench coat swaying about him purposefully.

"With all due respect, Mike, that math doesn't quite add up."

"Oh, c'mon, Mick, humor me. I'm armed and somewhat dangerous." He pulled a gun out from a shoulder holster under his coat and checked the bullet magazine and safety.

"They're silver?"

Mike smiled. "Yep."

A corner of Mick's mouth turned up in wry amusement. "Somewhat dangerous you are then."

"Mike, what are you doing?"

"Vicki, I've thought about this all day. It's obvious you're not going to stay out of this." He shot a dark look at Mick. "And I'll be damned if I'm just going to stand by and do nothing."

"Amara didn't want to come play with us?" Henry purred. He couldn't help himself.

Mike narrowed his eyes at him. "No. She didn't."

Vicki looked between them. "Now, who the hell is Amara? Why doesn't anybody ever tell me anything anymore?"

"We really should get going," said Mick, as ever the spoilsport of every good discussion Henry was warming up to of late.

"C'mon, Vicki, I'll explain on the way. The fang gang here can catch their own ride."

She looked to Henry with a small shrug before following Mike. Curiosity was clearly making up her mind for her. Henry took several steps in pursuit but Mick's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Give it a rest, already, Henry." His eyes flashed a dark warning, but he relented. They really did have more important concerns right now.

The Kortright Conservation was a large and beautiful expanse of wilderness along the Humber River Valley just north of Toronto. The land was dotted with dense woodlands, rolling hills and pristine marshes, and hiking trails crisscrossed the terrain. A visitor center and parking lot nestled at its heart, but the nighttime guests didn't get that far. The gate was locked for the day and rather than forcing it open, they left their cars near the entrance on Pine Valley Drive and hiked in. The humans took the lead while the immortals hung far back, cleaving to the frost-bitten shadows, making no sounds, all their senses keyed to the night. Nothing was amiss so far, but that could change in an instant.

Henry dedicated more of his perceptions than strictly necessary to the back and forth between Vicki and Mike. Celluci had explained to her that Amara was the new vampire in town and that he had met her. He squirmed gracelessly in Vicki's clutches when she pressed him for more information about his new acquaintance and let his temper flare several times, causing Vicki to only dig harder. He held firm, however, thanks to long practice, and did not divulge the full extend of his relationship with Amara even though Vicki clearly suspected something. The fact that she kept trying to make Mike confess grated on Henry's nerves no end. He fumed silently as he crept after them, sword in hand, hyper-alert for any indication that Vicki might change her mind about their new-found relationship after all. It was his second biggest fear, Henry realized, right after loosing her to death itself.

As the night wore on, the chatter between the humans relaxed, occasionally breaking into easy laughter as They'recalled tales of their shared past. They found a picnic bench by a creek near to where the majority of bodies had been stashed, and Vicki had unloaded her backpack. Like a good girl scout, she had come prepared with a thermal blanket, two thermos bottles—coffee and soup—a bottle of liquor, and a hot-pack containing a Chinese dinner. She shared this bounty with Mike—right down to the single pair of chopsticks—as they huddled together under the blanket in the translucent glow of a crescent moon. High above, past the bare branches of the trees, the Milky Way spread like spilled diamond dust against black velvet. It was a breathtakingly still, clear night. Only their voices could be heard over the gurgle of the creek as it wound its way around the creeping embrace of ice.

Merging effortlessly into the moon shadow of an oak, Henry lost himself in the night sky. His mind drifted back across the centuries, all the places he had seen and people he had known...all the people he had lost. It never got any easier even when the deaths came naturally. Worst of all was always the death he might have prevented but didn't or couldn't for whatever reason. He leaned his head against the rough bark and watched Vicki, his beloved warrior princess, so completely immersed in her human life—so completely oblivious to how closely she and all her kind always walked on the precipice of death. It was insane for her to be here, but he understood Mick's reasoning. Had their positions been reversed, he might well have asked the same of this Beth Turner girl. No price was too high for Vicki. And Henry had to admit to himself, however unwillingly, that Mike keeping her company was infinitely preferable to watching her drudge around the winter woods on her own. All he could do then was remain alert.

Easier said than done. Many hours later Mike and Vicki had imbibed heavily of the bottle she had brought and semi-drunken silliness was deteriorating into halting and mumbling conversation. Leaning up against each other and the table, the two of them were nearly asleep and Henry didn't feel that far behind. As stakeouts went this one was as uneventful as they came. Mick came and went throughout the night, keeping busy by patrolling the park perimeter for activity while Henry and the king's sword guarded the humans. This had been a more than agreeable arrangement as far as he was concerned.

"Vic?" Mike murmured now under the blanket over at the picnic table.

"Mmm?"

"When this is over, are you going with Henry?"

There was an interminable pause that had Henry cease breathing. She stirred to look at him. Her answer came on a soft sigh. "Yes, Mike. I am."

Henry felt his face split into a grin. For a moment he seriously considered moving in to displace Mike under that blanket. But that's when the shadows came alive and hushed towards him.

"They're here," Mick whisper at his ear.

Sobering instantly, Henry tuned into the night again and heard the hum of an idling engine near the edge of the park at least half a mile away. He looked at the sky. The star ribbon was fading.

"Stay here," said Mick. "I'll call if I need you."

Henry watched the other vampire streak into the thicket without so much as a whisper of sound. For a relative newborn, St. John had considerable skill, he had to admit. He raised the sword, ready for whatever might come.

"Looks like dawn is coming," said Mike. "We spent the entire night in the woods. If I had known that I would have brought a tent."

"No. Tent not a good idea."

"We would have been warmer."

"That's why it wouldn't have been a good idea."

They smiled at each other.

From the direction of the idling engine, a resonant growl reached Henry's sensitive ears. This was quickly followed by the sound of crashing tree limbs.

"Think they're still around?" Vicki ventured, clearly oblivious to developments.

"I wouldn't mind if they weren't."

A series of powerful thumps filtered through the woods. Something metal was being struck, possibly a car.

Vicki climbed out of the blanket, stretched and hugged herself. "It doesn't look like anybody's going to show up. Let's get back to the car. They'll...Henry!"

"Oh speak of the devil," Mike grumbled. Bags of exhaustion bunched under his eyes and stubble sprouted on his chin and cheeks.

Henry put a finger to his lips. The roar now echoing in the still pre-dawn air was evident even to human ears. Mike leapt to his feet, drew his gun and pulled the safety. Vicki's eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect O of realization.

"Don't move," Henry breathed into her ear. "Don't make a sound."

And then he was gone, blurring through the trees toward the scene of the fight. But the fight was a moving target, darting away from its origin, across marshlands, over park buildings, through streams and even up into trees. _Savages_, Henry thought. Why couldn't gentlemen fight honorably these days? Mick's adversary was a young vampire born of a human in the prime of his life and highly skilled in martial arts. Every time Mick went for an attack that should have been decisive, the youngster either managed to disappear out of his reach or deal a counter blow that sent Mick sprawling. Henry threw back his head and roared a challenge at the top of his lungs. The martial artist was only marginally distracted. Mick got in a glancing blow, whirled as fast as he could to maintain an element of surprise...and collapsed to his knees, eyes and mouth open wide with astonishment. He flopped to the ground, limp and motionless, hands wrapped around one of his own stakes protruding from his chest.

Henry didn't think. Operating purely on instincts honed by centuries of hunting and defending his territory, he moved forward, barely more than a shade upon the wind. The other turned to bellow a warning at the new arrival but by then Henry was on him. Miraculously, he managed to move out of the sword's hissing path twice. The third time was the charm, however. At blinding speed, Henry changed direction in mid-motion and appeared where the novice had not anticipated. The blade of King Henry VIII whispered its deadly promise an instant before making good on it. The head hit the marshy ground with a dull thud, the eyes looking up in horror to see its own body collapse down upon it.

Henry stood over the scene, long hair wild, eyes black, fangs bared, snarling, the bloody weapon high over his head, ready to strike again. But for this vampire eternity had come to an abrupt and permanent conclusion.

Slowly he became aware of his name being wheezed. Mick lay paralyzed on the ground in the shallow snow, gasping softly, and for once looked more than a little out of his element. Henry shoved his hair back and smiled down at the erstwhile nuisance vampire from LA. "How did you manage this, St. John?"

"A...little...help...please?" Mick said through barely moving lips.

Henry touched the tip of the sword to Mick's throat, letting him feel the razor edge and smell the blood clinging to the icy steel. "Oh, this is almost too tempting."

A pitiful hiss was his only response.

"A plane? You shipped me across a continent as cargo? I hope you realize I won't ever forget that."

"I...owe...you."

"Amazingly, that is the correct answer."

Gripping the stake, Henry yanked it from Mick's chest without preamble and tossed it aside. Then he waited patiently while Mick twisted and writhed, recovering himself.

"And I was just beginning to like you, too," said Mick, finally staggering to his feet.

"Your mistake."

"Did you get the others?"

Henry frowned. "Others?"

"There were two others. With the van."

"I saw no van. Or anyone else."

"He lured us away..."

A gunshot blasted through the stillness. As one, their heads turned toward the area of the park where they had left Vicki and Mike. Two more shots were followed by a woman's furious scream. Henry and Mick torpedoed through the gray dawn in tandem before the sound had fully died away.

They found Mike pulling himself to unsteady feet by the picnic table while keeping his gun training on a form stirring weakly on the ground nearby. Coming to a stop to either side of him, Henry and Mick stared down at a young male vampire who, judging by his scent, could not have been more than a few days into his life of darkness. The fact that he was indeed vulnerable seemed something of a shock to him as he pawed at the two profusely bleeding bullet holes in his chest. He gasped and gurgled, sputtering blood from his mouth and nose.

Mike leaned over his victim. "Silver bullets. Very handy," he said. Blood flowed from a cut in his forehead down one side of his face and dripped off his jawbone. He didn't seem to notice.

"Where is she?!" Henry demanded.

"Van just came barreling down the hiking trail. They saw us before we knew what was happening."

Henry was beside himself. _"Where. Is. She."_

Mike looked around as though only now realizing that Vicki was gone. "They...took her."

Mick produced another one of his stakes and expertly spun it around the fingers of one hand. "Speak!" he barked. The injured creature at his feet cringed and made to scuttle away. Mike leveled the gun at his head, but it was bumping up against Henry's legs that halted his progress. "Where are they taking her?" Mick growled. "Where is Beth?"

"Cynthia," the other gasped. "She...she..."

"Spit it out already you little blood sucker," Mike ordered cocking the gun between the vampire's eyes.

"Amateurs," Henry spat. "Put that thing away, Celluci. We need him alive." He dropped to one knee, grabbed the youngster's chin between thumb and forefinger and forced him to look into his eyes. "Where are they?" he asked, putting every ounce of persuasive menace into his voice.

He became very still, hypnotized by Henry's power. "The castle," he said. "They are all in the castle."

There was only one such structure Henry was familiar with and it was a tourist attraction. "Casa Loma?"

"No. I...don't know. Old. Very old."

"Abandoned?" Mike pushed.

"Yes. Crumbling."

"No name castle," said Mike with certainty. "I know where that is. It's the perfect place for this lot to hide out." He wiped his brow with the back of his wrist as though swiping at sweat. He looked startled when he realized that it was blood.

"How far?" Mick asked.

"Half an hour."

"Is Beth there?" Mick demanded, eying their captive with ruthless hostility.

He looked up at Mick and grew alarmed. Henry pulled his face back toward him. "Blond human female. Young," he prompted.

"Yes. Yes, she is there," he said quickly, clearly relieved to be speaking to Henry again.

"Who else?"

"Cynthia. Carl, me, and...them. Three of them."

"Them?"

He shivered and a new gush of blood poured from his mouth. "Animals."

Henry rose to his feet and looked at Mick. "Heard enough?"

Mick nodded.

An instant later, the sword's razor sharp tip neatly sliced through the fallen vampire's neck and spine. With a flick of the wrist, Henry flipped the head away from the body. Mick stared.

Mike stepped out of the rolling head's trajectory. "I thought we needed him alive?" he said, incredulous.

"We were done with him. Besides, with the silver leeching into his body he would not have survived the day anyway." As he spoke, he bit into his finger until it oozed blood, and touched it to the gash on Celluci's head. Mike winced with surprise and pulled back. "Hold still," Henry ordered. The vampire blood went to work immediately, mending the mortal flesh in moments. "You and St. John need to get to this no name castle. We can't have you passing out along the way."

Mike rubbed the tingling new scar. "Thanks." He glanced up at the sky toward the east. "Time for you to pull a disappearing act, then?"

Henry blew a frustrated little breath. "Yes." The moon shadows faded fast in the dawn's misty first light, and Henry could hear the roar of the sun building in his blood. There wasn't much time.

"I never thought I'd say this, Fitzroy, but I really wish you didn't have to go."

"I leave you in capable hands," he said, turning to meet St. John's brilliant and resolute gaze. That one would stop at nothing for Beth or—he hoped—Vicki. Henry had no doubt that Mick would die to save them, and, if that is what it indeed came to, his death at least would not be in vain. All this and more passed between them in a single moment of silence.

Mick nodded. "I owe you, Henry."

"Yes. You do. And her as well." He held out his father's sword, hilt first. Blood still dripped from the tip. "Take this. You might need it."

Mick's hand closed on the weapon but Henry did not relinquish it just yet. Drawing within inches of the other vampire's face, he said, "If anything happens to her, St. John. I will consider her blood on your hands."

Henry didn't wait for an acknowledgment before vanishing into what remained of the night.


	11. To Dust

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 11: To Dust

Dawn was coming. Blessed dawn. They got quiet at dawn. And there would be food for her too. Usually. Not always. How long now? How many days? Weeks? A blur. It didn't matter. Just as long as there was daylight. Her deep blue eyes locked onto the tiny, barred window near the vaulted ceiling. She could see the outline of the tree there against the brightening sky. Just a little while longer now. And then sunlight. She was ready for the day, having crawled back to the spot on the floor where the sunbeam from the window would first hit. There was a well-worn track on the filthy floor from where she would move to follow it, half awake, all day long, drinking in whatever little warmth there was to be gained. And safety. She was safe in the light.

Her mind blessedly blank, Beth stared at the window, waiting, praying. She registered the distant hum of the van's engine with only half a mind, expecting it, waiting for it. Dreading it. Across the room, they were almost asleep, their lustful, hungry snarling quieted to anxious panting. She heard them, and she didn't hear them. Only so much background noise now. Dawn was coming. Daylight. That's all that mattered.

The clanging of the lock coming undone announced her visit, as it always did, though the sound was sharp this time, angry. Noises of a shuffling struggle accompanied it. Someone was trying to speak or scream in the back of a throat. Beth cringed and squirmed back into the corner where she huddled at night. _No, not another one. Not again. Please. Not again._ She buried into the ragged coat, scrunched her eyes shut and covered her ears. On the other side of the dungeon, behind the rusting steel bars that kept them contained, the creatures stirred.

She screamed and curled up tighter when something heavy fell on her. They howled and rattled their cage violently. The thing that had hit her squirmed against her. It wouldn't leave.

A muffled voice reached her. "She is for tonight, boys. You'll have to be patient."

Ages seemed to pass and nothing else happened. No terrorized screaming and begging for mercy, no horrific sounds of torn limbs and snapping bones. She opened her eyes to the sunbeam breaking into the room, clean and beautiful, promising salvation. She sobbed to see it and hurried forward to the spot where it would meet her as it slid down the wall. There she cowered. And breathed. And waited.

"Mmmmmmm!"

Carefully she looked over her shoulder. A strange woman sat in her hiding corner now, gagged and tied, long brown hair covering most of her face. As she watched, the woman struggled to free her wrists without success. She shook her head to move the hair out of her face and looked at Beth with a pleading expression. When Beth didn't move, the look became impatient. "MMMMMMM!!"

Beth blinked slowly, her mind engaging just enough to consider that if she was on this side of the bars and tied like this she was probably human. She glanced up at the sunbeam, unsure. The other woman stomped her feet furiously, startling her. When she looked again, the woman made unmistakable "come here" motions with her head.

Very slowly, she did. The woman shoved her face forward, and Beth pried the gag from her mouth.

"What the hell is wrong with you? We need to get out of here. Untie me."

"We can't go," Beth whispered, but nevertheless she started picking at the rope binding her wrists behind her back. Absently she noted the peculiar pentacle tattoos edged there. "There is no way out."

"You leave that to me. You must be Beth Turner?"

"Yes."

"I'm Vicki Nelson, investigator. Mick hired me to help find you."

Beth froze.

Vicki chafed her wrists. "Keep going. It's almost loose."

Her hands shaking violently now, Beth did as told until the knot came undone. Then she crawled back to her spot and stared at the sunbeam, ignoring Vicki getting up and pacing the perimeter of the room. On the other side of the bars, they paced as well, naked, skinny and hungry, eyes alight and fangs sharp. "Don't get too close," Beth said flatly.

"Who are they?"

Beth didn't answer. It was obvious, wasn't it? Animals. Vampires. Murderous creatures that would devour this woman come night. Cynthia would see to that. And she would make sure Beth would witness every moment of it as she had every night they had been here. Better, then, not to get too attached to this fellow human. She glanced at the bag on the floor where it had been dropped. Breakfast of some sort. Beth had eaten some of the offerings in the past simply because her body demanded the nourishment. Not today, though. She wanted no more. She wanted to die. She wanted to become part of the dust on the cobbles beneath her—invisible, insignificant and free.

"They're feral, aren't they?"

When Beth still said nothing, Vicki came over and crouched down before her, looking at her closely for the first time. Beth did not meet her eyes; she saw only the sunbeam coming for her. Her fingers lightly wandered the stone floor in a trance.

"My God. What have they done to you?" The woman touched her face. Beth didn't stir. "Mick is coming, Beth. He is beside himself with worry for you. He'll be here very soon. He'll get us out of this."

A single tear rolled down Beth's grimy cheek. "No."

"He loves you, Beth, and he's strong and smart. He'll find a way."

Beth still stared at the sunbeam, eyes glittering. "He is one of them," she whispered. "He is one of them."


	12. Castles in the Snow

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 12: Castles in the Snow

"How much farther?"

"Ten minutes maybe. I think."

"You do know where we're going, right?"

"Yes, of course, I do." Mike consulted the map again. "No name castle. Vicki and I did a homicide investigation there about three years ago."

"Is it on the map?"

"Of course, not. Why do you think they call it 'no name' castle?"

Mick set his jaw and pushed the accelerator down a little harder. He would have dearly liked to floor it, but the last thing he needed was a patrol car pulling him over. Not having Henry's powers of persuasion in his bag of tricks, that delay would have lasted far longer than they had time for. Seconds were precious now. Off to the right, the sun had broken over the horizon several minutes ago, washing the white winter landscape in a torrent of fresh, clean light with increasing intensity. Squinting, he pulled the sunglasses from an inside pocket and pressed them into service. With one hand he tried gamely to block from his face the light that eluded the glasses. "It's winter, for crying out loud. You'd think it'd be overcast up here this time of year."

"Usually it is," Mike agreed, trying to keep the glare out of his own eyes as well. "Just your rotten luck, I guess. What does that do to you anyway?"

"Hurts like hot needles. And it drains my energy."

"Well, better than what it would do to Fitzroy."

_Small miracles,_ Mick thought. He couldn't imagine having to seek shelter right now with Beth and Vicki so near and in mortal danger. Henry's finals words to him burned brightly in his mind. Her blood would be on his hands if anything happened to her. It was implied that the price would be his life. A fair bargain, all in all. If anything happened to Vicki, it would also happen to Beth, and if that was the case, Mick had no reason to go on. This he knew now beyond the shadow of a doubt; Beth was his reason for existing. Without her, Henry Fitzroy was at liberty to dispose of him as he saw fit.

"Tell me about this castle," he prompted to keep his mind from circling that particular drain.

"Turn-of-the-previous-century construction. It was fashionable then for the wealthy around here to live like European royalty. Several castles were built. One is now a tourist attraction. The rest are abandoned. They tend to attract fringe elements—cults, drug parties, homeless, that sort of thing."

"Vampires."

"Apparently. Turn off at the next exit."

Mick did. The streets they turned onto became increasingly narrow and convoluted, and Mick was beginning to doubt his navigator's skills, but he held his tongue and maintained what remained of his patience. Mike was working hard enough on pulling the information out of his frazzled and exhausted brain without the undead impatiently tapping a virtual foot. He wanted to find Vicki as desperately as Mick wanted to find Beth, and that would just have to be good enough.

Eventually neither map nor memory was necessary. On a rutted forest road, a fresh set of tracks was visible in the snow. They followed it.

"No name castle, I presume?" Mick ventured as they pulled up.

"Yep."

It was like nothing he had ever seen before. Wedged deep into the side of a mountain, the castle was a collection of towers and turrets punched through with black, empty windows. Snow piled at the base of massive granite walls and swirled into yawning doorways. Bare winter trees moaning in the wind embraced the stones possessively. The overall impression was one of an enormous skull jammed in the dirt eons ago and long forgotten.

Mick reached into the backseat for Henry's sword. By his reckoning they were facing at least four vampires, one of them Cynthia, provided that one of those their captive had named was the one Henry had dispatched when he came to Mick's aid. Mick hated to think that any more of that caliber might be sheltering here. Cynthia would be challenge enough. Though not an ancient, she was old enough to be quick and dangerous. And she had learned at the feet of the most cunning of all. "I don't like these odds Mike. I may not be able to protect you."

Mike pulled the gun out of its holster and checked the magazine with the silver bullets. "I'm somewhat dangerous myself, remember?"

"Right," he murmured. Being human, Mike would only mange to hit a vampire if he caught it by surprise or was graced with an inordinate amount of luck, such as he clearly had back at the park. He reached into the back of his jacket and produced one of the stakes he always carried. "Take this. Straight through the heart will paralyze them. _Then_ you can shoot them at leisure. Directly to the head if you want to make sure."

"Gee. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"It's a big one considering the circumstances. Trust me."

They approached as quietly as they could manage given the crunching snow. The cold morning air glittered around them. Tree shadows rippled across the snow. Mick and the sword went first, his nose drinking in the rich scents of ice, wood, decay and blood. Mike followed at a small distance, gun at the ready, eyes scanning all the openings in the castle and the surrounding woods. Nothing interfered with their progress, and Mick breathed a tentative sigh of relief upon entering the drafty, shadowy interior.

They stood just inside a doorway with no doors, snow drifting about their ankles, and looked around at the pitiful remnants of a once stately residence. Except for the shattered skeleton of a piano, no furniture remained, and most of the wood that was left was splintered and rotted. Half a stairway hung from the second floor landing. A thick electrical wire twisted out of a wall, the remnants of a light socket tethered to the end. Mick could smell all the creatures that had made a home here in recent times—rabbits, rats, foxes, boars. Vampires. Closing his eyes, he scented carefully and moved into the direction of the strongest markers, Mike close behind.

At the end of a narrow hallway in which torn spider webs drifted and groped for their faces, lay the kitchen. Rusting hulks of metal, what remained of the stoves, and sagging cabinets lined the walls. Through a back entrance, a light blue van was visible outside. On the far end of the room, another doorway led into total darkness. It was from there that emanated the strongest smells and sounds of life in this desolate place. Mick indicated the passage with his eyes and Mike nodded. Like a well-practiced team they moved forward.

A stairway lay just beyond the edge of the slender archway. Mick saw it easily and all but flowed down the incline. A moment later there was a gasp, slip, scuff and thump. Mick whirled around, sword raised, expecting an attack, only to find Mike on his backside, clumsily trying to regain his feet. "You could have told me there were stairs!" he cursed under his breath.

"Shut up!" Mick hissed.

From somewhere below, a howling ruckus rose.

Mick hurried down the winding stairway, only to be greeted by a weathered wrought iron gate secured by a shiny new chain and lock.

"Mick?" Vicki squinted, trying to spot him in the shadows. "God, I hope that's you."

"It's us, Vicki," Mike called, clattering down the stairs.

She hurried over. With the exception of an ugly bruise on her left cheekbone, she looked to be in good shape. But Mick's eye quickly landed on the figure beyond her, towards the far end of the room, folded small upon herself near the terminus of a dusty sunbeam. Her long, golden hair was stringy and snarled but unmistakable. "Beth."

"You better hurry and get us out of here. Your buddy Cynthia can't be far."

With a sharp snap of his wrist, Mick broke the lock from the chain and pushed open the door. Mike burst through behind him and scooped Vicki up in a massive hug. "Thank God you're all right!"

A curtain of steel bars divided the room, which looked like it had once been used as a kitchen pantry the contents of which included live animals. On the other side, three naked male vampires growled and snarled their feral hunger. But Mick gave them only a cursory glance; his entire world collapsed into a single point—the cowering woman on the floor. The blade clanged to the ground as he slid to a stop on his knees before her, taking her shoulders into his hands, lifting her. "Beth. I'm here." She was a limp and fragile rag doll in his embrace. "I'm here now. You're going to be OK. Everything is going to be OK."

She stirred feebly, weary and dazed. He held her closer, pressing her head against his shoulder, drowning in her familiar scent. "It's going to be OK." Behind him the vampires gathered and shook the bars, their blood greed a wet, chilling sound in the cold air.

Beth pushed at him suddenly, panicked. "It's all right. They can't hurt you." She pushed harder, her hands balling into fists. Her breathing grew ragged and her heart tripped in her chest.

And then she screamed.

The sound was so unexpected, so overwhelming, it felt like a stake to his heart, paralyzing him on the spot. She was halfway out of his arms when he caught her and tenderly tightened his grip to reassure her that she was safe. Instead of calming down, however, she only grew more frantic. She fought him like a wild thing with nails and teeth, eyes glazed and crazed, screaming and screaming. The ferals echoed her lustily until the stones reverberated with the clamor.

"Mick! Let her go!" Vicki shouted.

"No!"

"Let her go! Can't you see she's terrified of you?"

_No!_ He felt cold and unreal suddenly, disembodied even, lost in a bizarre new reality he could not imagine but which was real nevertheless. Reluctantly he relented his hold on her. Sobbing, she all but flew away from him, slamming into the corner behind her, and made herself as small as possible. Her eyes were on him, though, peering behind a curtain of tangled hair. What he saw there chilled him to the core. She _was_ terrified of him. Terrified to death.

"No," he whispered. "No. Beth. It's me. I..."

Her voice shook with vehemence. "Get away from me you monster!"

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. A maelstrom of emotion opened up in his soul, drowned him whole, and brought forth the creature that forever lived just beneath his skin. He felt it rising and was powerless to stop it. Still he could not avert his gaze from her—or the growing horror in her face.

"She's been through a lot, Mick," Vicki said. "This will take time."

"She will always hate you now," said a new voice now. "How does that feel, Mick?"

He turned slowly to the petite blond that had entered the dungeon. Mike pointed his gun at her, but she didn't so much as glance at him or Vicki. Her chin rose a little higher in triumph. "How does it feel, Mick?" she said again.

"I had nothing to do with what happened to Coraline." His voice was thick with menace.

Cynthia's amiable expression vanished in an instant. "You had _everything_ to do with it! You're the one she couldn't stop hunting. You're the one that drove her to steal the compound from Lance! You're the one, therefore, who caused her to be taken away and killed."

Mick rose to his feet. "What you have done is far worse. How many lives has this sick revenge cost? Five? Ten? Fifteen?"

"Does it matter? They're only human."

"Hey, watch it," said Vicki.

Cynthia indicated Beth with a nod. "I was going to turn her for you, you know. What a beautiful monster she would make."

"You were going to let her become feral."

Cynthia smiled. "Ah well. The devil is in the details, as they say."

Without warning she broke into a blinding blur of speed, turned to the door to the cage, released it and threw it open. The ferals were out of it in a flash. Mike's gun fired twice before one of the creatures was on him, knocking it out of his hand. But the human was prepared with his backup weapon. When the vampire fell on him for a lethal feed, he ran right into the sharpened stake Mike held at the ready with his other hand and instantly became a limp weight.

Vicki lunged for Beth as the other two ferals came for both of them. Mick stooped for the sword and spun on his heel, the blade humming in his grip. His intended target saw him coming, however, and ducked out of the way, then came in for a low attack that sent them both flying across the cobblestone floor. Mick growled up into the other's distorted face. Nothing human remained there. Reason had fled. Sharpened by deprivation interspersed with violent feedings, only the hunger ruled, and it was that hunger that made him strong. The long, sharp fangs came for Mick's throat like missiles. Bucking violently, he managed to shake the leach loose just enough to get a hold on him and throw him into the nearest wall. By the time the feral bounced off and flew at him again, Mick had the sword back in his hand. Leaping high into the air, he surprised his foe with the blade singing around in a mighty arch—and straight through his neck.

At almost the exact same instant, Mike's gun fired again.

Mick looked to see Mike drag the body of the vampire who had gone after Vicki off of her crumpled form. Beth sat beside her, mouth open, dazed. Blood and gore covered them both. It had been a head shot—lethal even without the silver bullets.

Before he could fathom what he was seeing, a sharp gasp threw his attention. The third vampire fought to rise to his feet. Cynthia stood over him, stake in hand, encouraging him with sharp kicks to his ribs. Her shoulder was wet and bright red, and she swayed unsteadily, victim of one of Mike's lucky shots. Mick didn't wait for the feral to recover. There was no point in it. His destiny was certain and written on the blade of King Henry VIII.

The body collapsed between them. Cynthia looked up at him, eyes bright. Her breath coming in the low, quick cadence of a mortally wounded vampire. Loathing carved her beautiful face into a fearsome mask. "I hate you, Mick St. John." It was the second time in as many days that someone had declared this to him. Except this time he believed it.

He lifted the bloodied sword high. She straightened, ready. "She will hate you _forever_!"

The spike of rage that guided his hand knew no more reason than the ferals had. He gave in to the sheer joy of killing as he had not done since his earliest days as a child of night. The blade struck downward with such power it cleaved clean through her shoulder and torso, slicing her heart in two as it went. The body tumbled, exploding blood.

Mick stood and stared at it for a long time, the small grip he still had on his humanity screaming to be heard. He saw nothing else. Heard nothing. Was aware of nothing. Only the blood. Only the death. And, somewhere beneath it all, the unfathomable pain of having lost...her.

Something called his name. Over and over. A man's voice. Very slowly he turned, very slowly becoming aware again of the room and why he was there and who he was there with. His eyes, still crazed with the blood lust, found Beth. He watched her tremble and pull away, crawl along the wall like a trapped animal until she could go no father. He heard her heart. He heard her whimper. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. Beth. His Beth. She who had fed him and loved him and defended him and laughed with him. She remembered none of this. The only thing that remained for her was the inhuman thing he truly was.

"Mick!"

He looked up at the other humans in the room. Mike knelt on the floor and cradled a limp body. Another cold fist closed around his heart, nearly stopping it completely. Only now did he register the desperation in Mike's face and voice...and all the blood on the floor...


	13. Blood Song

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 13: Blood Song

She lay on her back, legs twisted, one arm flung wide. She lay in a pool of blood—her own. Mike cradled her head in his lap and tried to staunch the blood flowing weakly from the gaping gash the feral had torn in her throat. Mick could see it was far too late for heroic measures. Her blood was nearly gone and her heart coughed feebly at what little there remained.

Surreal the moment when the human looked up and met Mick's vampire bright eyes with crazed desperation. Mick had been here before not so very long ago. It was all happening again. To his horror…it was all happening again. Was the universe giving him another chance? Had he messed it up the first time? Is that what had brought them here, finally, to live it all again? _No, please no!_

"Help her, Mick. Please."

Mick began to shake his head, back away as he had before.

"_Please!_"

He stared at the human ma and tried to ignore the face of the woman in his arms, waxen pale, the fluttering eyelids, the parted blue lips. The face of a woman he respected considered a friend and cared for. A woman who was the soul companion of another vampire who had sworn him to her protection. "What would you have done if it had been me that was dying?" Beth had asked him only days ago. He looked at her now, curled into a corner, hands convulsing around the iron bars, her breathing shallow and gaze unfocused. She wasn't bleeding to death but a part of her was dying just the same. And there was nothing he could do for her now. "I don't know," he had told her then. _I don't know!_

"What are you waiting for? Do this thing and do it now!"

Mick turned his face from the scene, the reality, the truth.

Mike's voice was hoarse with emotion. "If you don't turn her…. If you don't save her…I swear to God and the devil and everything in between, I will hunt you down, stake you into the desert and watch you die myself."

Mick looked up. "I will not turn anyone without their consent." His words rolled on a low growl. "You have no idea what you are condemning her to."

"Yes, I do. You know I do. Fitzroy would have turned her eventually and damned her to the night forever. At least this way…." His jaw tightened and he looked down at her again.

_She can be with Henry in that night and still know the day. Forever. _Mick remembered again the moment they had all met in Vancouver. "I love you," she had told Henry, and Mick had known she meant it. The memory of their embrace still burned on his mind. What they had was real. He knew that, too. So did Mike. The man of a single lifetime loved her too much to deny her destiny, would not stand in its way, and even pushed and dragged her, kicking and screaming, into it.

Mick dropped to his knees across from Mike into the pool of chilling blood. Vicki's prone body lay between them. _All that blood,_ he thought. All that blood he would not drink before attempting this turning._ I might just kill us both._ He touched her face. It was almost too late….

"Vicki, can you hear me?" Nothing. Her heart slowed. "Vicki!" he roared, making Mike jump. "Look at me!" Her eyes drifted open slowly, staring at him. Nothing else in her face moved. "Vicki, let me help you."

Her reply was infinitesimal and only for an instant—the last spasm of a life barely tethered—but it was there. Her pupils contracted, focused and then relaxed once more. It was all Mick needed to see. She knew him. She heard him. She had come back to him if not for him. And she wanted to stay….

In a single fluid motion, Mick pulled back the sleeve of his jacket and bit into his own wrist, tearing deeply. The pain was a pressure akin to an anvil slamming down on his bones. His blood came in a thick, pulsing torrent, dark and powerful, splashing his face and hers, finding her mouth, filling it….

Mick hadn't prayed in over fifty years, but he prayed now._ Let this work, oh God. Oh please let this work._ The memory of Joseph's once-mortal love lingering in an eternal comma after a failed turning taunted him and filled him with terror.

He held his wounded flesh against her open mouth. His blood flowed into her and out down her cheeks, her slashed neck and across Mike's hand still clamped there, and swirled into her own blood on the floor—human and vampire. Cold and colder, dead and undead.

"Drink Vicki," Mick whispered. "Please, Vicki, drink."

Mike gave her a small shake. "C'mon, Nelson! Get with it!" His tears flowed unheeded.

Her eyes closed as slowly as they had opened. A small, choking swallow gurgled out of her throat, followed by a tiny cough that sent blood spurting out of her nostrils. Another swallow. One more…and then the vampire blood caught root and ignited her body into the living corpse it would become and always be.

Mick felt himself turning inside out. His blood no longer flowed from him, it was being pulled and pulled hard, ripping with it every cell of his nerves, muscle and bone. She latched onto his arm with mounting strength, holding it with both hands, her mouth and throat working feverishly. Mick cried out in surprise and even tried to pull away, but Vicki's body sprang around him like a steel trap. They lay locked together on the cold and grimy stones, Mick staring blindly at the ceiling, Vicki moaning softly with the pleasure of her rebirth. She drank and drank, greedy, desperate and very much alive. The room started to spin around him. Too much. _Too much!_ "Enough!"

His own instinct of self-preservation shoved her away with such force she slithered more than halfway across the room before landing in a graceless heap. She rose to her knees, turning towards him, looking for more. The wound in her neck had vanished. Her hair hung in bloody streaks across her face and shoulders. Her glassy eyes widened, her blood-smeared mouth hung open. Her hands shook. She panted for air. "Uhmm," she said and promptly doubled over. A moment later she flipped onto her back with a long, pained groan. Mick rushed to her side just as her face contorted with horrified surprise.

"What's happening to her?!"

Mick put up a hand to keep Mike from coming any closer. "It'll pass. She's adjusting." He gathered his first newborn close. She writhed with the agony of her transformation, squirming in his arms. Then she arched her back hard and a piercing scream tore out of her gaping mouth. "Hold on, Vicki. Almost over. You'll never know pain again. I promise." _Not of the body anyway,_ he amended silently and closed his eyes against a rising tide of emotion. He had done it. He had actually done it. He had condemned another soul to this horror of a life of loneliness and death. Forever and ever...

Unbidden, Henry's face came to him, smiling and confident, utterly alive and reveling in the eternal night with uncurbed enthusiasm. Would he teach her to love this life as passionately as he did? Would he truly travel time with her? Was he her salvation?

Was he Mick's?

Mike knelt before them, holding his face in both hands, staring with shiny, red-rimmed eyes. Mick looked down at the woman in his arms. She gazed back calmly, her eyes softly flaring with an unnatural brilliance. And there, between her parted lips, emerged the small, sharp canines of their kind. "Welcome," he murmured. "How do you feel?"

For a long moment she didn't seem to have heard him. Then a corner of her mouth tugged upward. It was her only answer. Mick remembered well the feeling of sensory overload after being turned. But where he had reacted with revulsion, Vicki was clearly mesmerized. She sat up and carefully looked around the filthy room with its scattered bodies as though it were a wonderland. "I can see," she said, awed. _"I can see!"_

"Vicki," Mike whispered, moving forward.

Mick caught his arm. "No."

Vicki turned around. "Mike?" She looked at him as though she had never seen him before. And, of course, she hadn't. Not like this with her newly cured and heat-sensitive eyes that rendered his blood vessels like three-dimensional maps of luminous highways beneath his skin.

"Don't go near her," Mick warned.

Mike just stared at her. "What were you planning on feeding her, St. John? You're kind of running low, aren't you?"

Mick blinked, startled. "There is a supply back at her office."

"That's an hour away."

Vicki rose to her feet with feline grace and stood looking between them, uncertain for the moment, but increasingly resolute. Mick knew what she was feeling. It wouldn't be long before she would be more than willing to make corpses of anything that crossed her path. As much as he had given her, it hadn't been nearly enough. He needed to get her fed and fast.

Mick got up and extended a hand to Mike, pulling him up as well. "She won't know when to stop."

"Well then I trust you'll tell her when."

"Yes." But in all honesty the very idea of feeding off a live body right now had Mick so distracted he could only hope he would have the presence of mind to know when Mike had donated his limit.

"All right then. Vicki? My blood, my life. It's all I have left to give you. It's yours if you want it."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than she was nearly on him. Mick caught her in mid-blur and pinned her, his lips at her ear. "Slowly. Gently. If you harm him you will never forgive yourself. And never just got a great deal longer for you."

She nodded but her glacial eyes never left the pulse in Mike's neck. When he let her go she moved into Mike's embrace like an old familiar lover. He tilted his head aside, braced himself, and managed to produce barely more than a grunt when she made her first clumsy attempts at breaking his skin. Mick winced sympathetically. Still, he was impressed with the control she did manage to muster. She was far stronger and more stubborn than even he had given her credit for, and she was clearly bound and determined to control the vampire within herself just as she had always stood up to it in Henry.

But she still didn't know when to stop. Drawing on all of his own resolve, Mick managed to ignore the temptation of the fresh, warm blood and detached his firstborn from her first meal when Mike's color started draining out of his face. It was like pulling a leech off its feed. Her neck seemed to get longer and longer until he finally gave a sharp yank to her hair. She stumbled back and then hung in his arms, disoriented, but reason re-emerged quickly.

"All right?" he asked. She nodded and Mick released her.

Vicki wiped at her mouth and her face and brushed the hair out of her eyes.

"Geeze, Nelson, you look like something that just crawled out of a morgue," Mike said.

She looked him up and down, taking in the pale and haggard complexion, untidy hair and blood-spattered face, neck and clothes. "You're not looking so hot yourself, Celluci. And I guess I just did, didn't I?" she added, looking to Mick.

"It was close."

She put a hand on his arm. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. You still have a lot to learn about what you just got yourself into."

"And between you and Henry I know I will have the best teachers I could hope for."

He put his hand on top of hers. "You'll be in good hands with Henry." _If_ Henry would accept her in his life and territory. Somehow Mick doubted that possibility had occurred to her yet.

"So," Mike said after a moment of silence. "That's it then, isn't it?"

"Yes," Vicki agreed softly. "Thank you, Mike. For everything."

"Don't mention it. I'd say maybe we'll try again in the next life, but…." He chuckled and rubbed his chin. "Right."

"If those marks on your neck are any indication, maybe we'll see more of each other than you think. Life is funny that way."

Mike touched his throat where Vicki had fed and then further up where Amara had done the same the night before. He looked a bit chagrined. "Do you mind?"

She shook her head. "Nope. I guessed as much anyway. Just couldn't see the marks until now. Welcome to my world."

"Yeah. Thank you so much for dragging me into it," he shot back, but there was no malice in his tone. Only weariness.

A small sound caught their attention. Mick steeled himself and looked to the other human in the dungeon. She lay on her side now, curled in a fetal position. Her eyes were wide open, staring at him and spilling silent tears into the dirt. She had never appeared so fragile to him—or so tempting. No one had fed on her. She had plenty of blood. And her heart sang to him, begging to be had. He forced himself to turn away. As much as he wanted to take her into his arms and promise her eternal peace and protection, he dared not; the monster she so abhorred was alive and well and barely leashed.

"Mike," he said. "I need a favor…."


	14. Temptation

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 14: Temptation

Vicki woke and sat bolt upright on the sofa in her office. The quality of the light seeping around the edges of the blinds spoke of a cold winter evening. Night was coming. Night….

With a small start she remembered her dreams. The empty, snow-bound park. Mike, Henry and Mick. Getting pulled into a van. The castle and its dungeon. The pain. The terror. Death. And…blood.

She rubbed her eyes. Even in the gloomy light the room looked clear and brilliant. Every minuscule detail down to the dust collecting on top of the filing cabinets lay open to her. She was drowning in a three-dimensional world she had never known—not even when she could see.

No dream then. It had happened. She touched her mouth, remembering more, remembering Mike and the taste of his blood—and his love. He had survived her thanks to Mick. She sighed and sent up a silent prayer of gratitude.

Mick had left Beth in Mike's care for the day, tasking him with getting her cleaned, fed and to a doctor. Much as it clearly troubled him, it was obvious that the girl needed human company. And Vicki clearly needed supervision by someone who could tie her down if need be. They had stopped at her place to clean up, Mick waiting semi-patiently in the living room until she was done showering and changing. He interrupted her hypnotized stares into mirrors with frequent exhortations to hurry up already.

Mick was in and out of the bath in 2 minutes flat, rinsing away only the most glaring gory stains. "Goodness. Am I keeping you from something?"

"Dinner," he growled.

"Oh."

At Vicki's office, Coreen was at the reception desk as usual for a Monday morning. "Oh hey, Vicki," She greeted. "Thought you were taking a long weekend without telling me."

"It's been a long weekend all right," she said, her attention instantly and mercilessly locking onto the human girl's bare skin and the fine web of veins beneath it.

"So you've worked this new case then? How is it going?"

"Concluded," said Mick, grasping Vicki's elbow and stirring her away from the temptation to commit murder.

"OK. You do know there is a coffin in your office, right?" Coreen called after them.

"Yeah," Vicki replied over her shoulder. "And _you_ said he was 'ordinary'!"

"Sorry."

Mick closed the door behind them and headed for the mini fridge. They raided the veggie bin in tandem. Mick forced her to use a glass when she was about to suck the blood out of the bag with the handy built-in tube straw. Vicki drank the first helping so fast she might as well have poured it directly into her stomach. Mick, however, matched her, which is when it occurred to her how much she must have taken from him and how ravenous he must have been ever since. But he had controlled the hunger just as she had to learn to control it. In light of this, she made a concerted effort to pour them both a second glass at a more measured pace.

Mick clinked his glass to hers. "Here's to eternity then. May it be all you want it to be."

She watched him drink, forcing herself to slow down and even stopping as he did, halfway through. He nodded approval. "You were a stronger mortal than I have ever known, Vicki. You will be a very powerful vampire."

She smiled at him. "You proud of me, Daddy?"

"Very," he said and pulled her into an embrace. She trembled in his arms without knowing why. The tears came like a dam breaking. She let them go. He held her.

Some time later, when she had regained her composure enough, she informed Coreen that she and Mick would be catching up on sleep for the rest of the day and were not to be disturbed. Coreen, who had surely heard her sobs, looked a little bewildered but didn't argue. "OK."

"Long night. Rough night."

"OK," Coreen said again, wide-eyed.

"No interruptions."  
"OK."

"OK then. See you later."

"OK."

Mick had offered to share the coffin, but that's where Vicki drew the line. "Over my undead body, mister!" she hissed.

"All right. But don't get sunburned on that couch, and _don't_ go anywhere without me."

And here she was now, on the couch without blankets even though the room was icy and refreshingly cold. She smiled in wonder at all the things she could see. It was like having the volume turned up on a mumbled drone that had lasted years only to now be drowned by a crescendo of orchestral glory. Her vision was only the most obvious change but all her senses had been heightened considerably. She touched her ear, concentrating. Yes, she could actually hear Coreen breathing in the next room and the hush of a pen as she wrote on a paper pad. Recalling a conversation she had with Henry months ago, she hurried to the window and opened the shade. Night had not completely claimed the sky as yet, but there they were, the first stars, shimmering and pulsing in a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns that caught her breath. What beauty in this awesome universe! And she now one of the few to see it fully. And forever.

She took a deep breath, relishing her new strength and freedom and was immediately confronted with the price she had to forever pay for these. The warm, sweet scent of human blood entered her awareness from the girl in the next room. Her hunger rose and sharpened almost instantly. With her tongue she probed around the wicked teeth extending into her mouth. Every nerve in her body tingled with the impulse to go and take the girl into her arms and drink her fill. _Her name is Coreen! She's my friend!_ Yes, but why not? Henry fed from humans all the time with no ill effect and she had some evidence that Mick could also—if he put his mind to it.

She glanced at the fridge. The bagged stuff was all right, all in all, but it couldn't match the heady experience of a beating heart driving blood into the mouth. Coreen wouldn't mind, surely. And she could stop...

Vicki spun on her heel and went for the fridge. Pouring a glass, her hands shook with her need for the blood, but she stubbornly refused to give in. She _was_ going to do this the civilized way. She _was_ going to retain her humanity. She _was_, damn it, she _was!_

"I thought I heard you moving around in here."

She froze. She had so completely pushed her awareness of Coreen out of her mind, she had now completely missed the girl coming into the room. Oh, did she ever have a lot to learn. _Bumbling idiot of a vamp, I am._

"Vicki?"

She looked up. Coreen gasped, covering her mouth with both hands and taking a hasty step back. OK, so this wasn't a reaction she would learn to treasure. Vicki held up a finger to Coreen to hold on a second, picked up the glass and drank it down. Then she closed her eyes with blessed relief, feeling the gut-wrenching need release her.

"Oh. My. God. Vicki…."

"Coreen," she said with as much dignity as she could muster while wiping the blood mustache off her lip.

The girl smiled tentatively. "You…you're…."

"A vampire. Yes."

"Yes! This is wonderful! But how? I thought Henry was in Vancouver?"

"He's back. But, no, it wasn't him."

Coreen frowned, confused. "Then...?"

Vicki indicated the casket where the lid was creaking open. "I don't think you've really met Mick St. John, my not-so-ordinary client for the weekend."

Coreen pivoted in place. "Why no, I guess I haven't." She beamed at the half-dressed man climbing out of the coffin. Clad only in jeans, Mick was a sight, Vicki had to admit. "Hi. I don't suppose you would turn me too?"  
Mick gave the giddy Goth a long, hard look. "What is wrong with you?"

"Coreen, it was an emergency. It was either this or die, so…." She made a face and indicated a scale with both hands.

"Wow! Does Henry know?"

"Not yet." She glanced at the window. "But he will soon, I'm sure." Now that she thought of it, she had no idea what to expect from him. Given how he had reacted to Mick just feeding from her, all bets were off at how he would feel about this turn of events.

Mick stepped around the girl, shrugging into his shirt as he went.

"Wait a second," Coreen puzzled. "I saw you come in here during the day. What gives?"

Vicki explained what very little she knew about the creature she had become, including the ability to endure limited exposure to daylight. And "endure" was the right word. What little she experienced on the way from the castle had nearly tied her in knots with pain. She had checked herself repeatedly for smoke and flame. Still, she was able to look upon daylight at least, and for this she was grateful.

"That is _so cool!_" Coreen gushed.

"Yeah. A never ending carnival ride," Mick groused as he poured himself a glass of blood.

"You're an evening grouch, I see," Vicki murmured.

"I am before I feed, yes."

Coreen sped to his side. "Wait. What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"But I am here!"

"Your point being?"

"Coreen give it a rest. We're not going to feed on you," Vicki said with cool authority. "Not that you're not tempting..." _Oh, so very tempting!_

"Well then?"

Mick turned to Vicki. "This is a problem."

"She's been trying to force feed Henry for as long as she's known him."

"She's insane," he concluded and drank down his meal.

"Am I really that repulsive to vampires?" Coreen all but stomped a petulant foot.

Vicki could tell that the girl was beginning to grate on Mick's nerves. Hers as well for that matter. But unlike herself, Mick was operating in a very different emotional sphere right now—a place where he wasn't about to humor nonsense.

So when Mick turned back to her, his eyes glittered brightly with an ominous appetite. No doubt it was what he felt for the petite human girl, but Vicki suspected that having consumed a helping of blood already, he let her see it to frighten her into some sort of common sense more than anything else. She could have told him there was no use trying.

"Wow!" Coreen said, bouncing in place. "I've got plenty!" And with that she tilted her head to one side and pulled down the edge of her sweater.

Mick lost it. He struck at Coreen with the speed of a snake going after prey, latching onto her throat and drawing the warm life force from her in huge gulps. Coreen yelped with surprise. Vicki watched with her mouth agape, painfully aware of the scent of the girl's excited blood and feeling her own fragile control beginning to slip.

It was then that the door swung open. "Well, well, well. Finally getting the hang of it, are you?"

Vicki's breath caught. "Hi Henry," she said blankly. Her world stopped. She had never seen him like this. If she had, she was certain, she would not have been able to resist him for as long as she had. _How absolutely beautiful he is,_ she thought. It was obvious to her now that he wasn't human. She could tell by the cool quality of his skin's glow, the slow rhythm of his heart, and the strange musty undercurrent of time in his scent that clung to him like a cloak. Even newborn as she was, his power and age compared to Mick were glaringly obvious. His very presence filled the room and held her spellbound. It was as though she had only known his shadow before now.

He smiled at her. "Vicki." But his attention quickly swerved back to Mick and Coreen. She turned to them herself, forcing her heart to steady. He didn't know. Not yet. Her close proximity to Mick and Coreen apparently cloaked the true state of affairs from him.

Mick pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. The girl grinned and wobbled on unsteady legs. "Oh. Wow." Cutting into his finger, Mick smeared some of his own blood on her neck, erasing the evidence of his indiscretion. She giggled. "Thanks."

"You're insane," Mick told her flatly.

"I know," she agreed brightly.

"I'm glad to see you've come to your senses, St. John," said Henry, coming closer. Vicki heard his words, but they didn't register with her, not really. She could only stare at him and barely remembered to breathe. "But you really need to learn to appreciate the hunt more. There is no challenge in low-hanging fruit."

"Great. _Now_ he tells me," Coreen muttered.

Henry graced her with an indulgent smile. "Good to see you again, too."

She grew bashful and shot an askance look at Vicki. "I think I'll wait outside."

Henry watched her go and then turned to Vicki. "I'm glad you're all right."

"He threatened me with bodily harm if anything happened to you," Mick told her.

Vicki swallowed. "It was close, but Mick did all he could, Henry. _Literally...__all_ he could." She held his gaze and waited. There was a long pause before his thoughts started mirroring in his handsome, suddenly unguarded face. The slight narrowing of his slanting eyes, the tightening of a corner of his sensitive mouth, and finally the slackening of his jaw and long, astonished exhale of breath. He whispered her name, dumbstruck.

Vicki lifted her chin. "What do you think?"

Henry slowly looked her up and down, taking in every detail. "Why?" he finally managed. Vicki had never seen him so disconcerted. That on top of everything else she was now aware of about him made her feel adrift in an unknown sea. He only looked like the Henry she knew, and that is what she focused on tenaciously. That and breathing.

"She was attacked and had nearly bled out," Mick explained. He hovered beside her, a towering guardian, ready to strike in her defense if need be. "I had no choice."

"It was my choice," Vicki said quietly when Henry remained silent. "I asked him to." She had no clear recollection of the moment, but she did distinctly remember wanting to live—at any cost.

Henry moved closer, thoughtful. Whatever he was feeling, Vicki registered some relief to see that attacking her did not appear to be at the top of his list just now. He came very near, taking in her scent and studying every nuance of her face. He was overpowering, more frightening than ever, but she gamely stood her ground. As a mere human she would never have backed down. She certainly wasn't about to start now. But in retrospect she realized what a very dangerous game she had played with him—and how much he must care for her to have let her get away with as much as she had.

Her senses filled with him to overflowing when he touched his face to hers, smelling her skin, his breath curling against her cheek. His hands moved up her arms, across her shoulders and caressed her neck. She swallowed. How easy for him to kill her if he considered her a threat. But maybe that was all right. Being this close to him, drowning in him, she knew that she wanted to walk the night at his side or not at all. "Henry," she whispered. "I love you."

Inhaling deeply and slowly, he took her face into his hands and met her wide eyes, searching. There was no trace of the vampire in him, nor her. They were two creatures discovering themselves suddenly in the same reality after months of watching each other through one-way mirrors. Lightly he touched his mouth to hers. She returned the kiss carefully at first, then more strongly. Within moments they stood entwined, oblivious to all but each other—and this time when he cut her lip and tasted her blood it was on purpose and she relished the sensation with a shuddering sigh. He lingered over the new taste of her like a connoisseur over a fine wine. Combing her fingers into his thick, curling mane of hair, Vicki kissed his smiling face over and over gain. He was as she most loved to see him—innocently happy as the boy he had once been—a vision that lifted her own heart with joy.

Stretching back his head, Henry exposed his muscular neck to her mouth. His blood was like white light beneath his skin and a siren song to her hunger. Instinctively she accepted his invitation and bit down, drawing an intoxicating dose of his essence. It tasted like white light, too—pure energy distilled through centuries of time. This, she knew, she could never get enough of. He pulled her close, and she heard him breathe a tiny rolling growl of pleasure, a sound she had never heard from him before. After four or five gulps, he gently pulled her away and looked at her with undisguised amazement. She licked her lips. He smiled.

"OK then," Mick broke in. "You two are going to be friends, right?"

"Oh, I think we're a little beyond that, Daddy."

"A little," Henry agreed.

"No territorial issues, right? I need to know you'll take care of her, Henry."

"Nothing insurmountable, no. This might actually work." At Mick's heartfelt sigh of relief, he turned to him and asked, "What sort of monster do you take me for anyway, St. John?"

Mick's expression froze. Vicki bit her lip. "I take all of us for monsters, Fitzroy. Just make it mean something, you and her. That's all I ask."


	15. Amen

Forever and Ever Amen

Chapter 15: Amen

Melting into the shadows of the room, Mick stood staring into the quiet street, waiting, while behind him the ancient and the fledgling continued considering each other in their new reality. As relieved as he was that his firstborn so wholly embraced her new life and had a creature the likes of Henry Fitzroy to stand by her side, a stone lay in his heart. He could not forget Beth's screams. They had haunted him throughout the day, invading his dreams and twisting his heart. He hadn't realized how much a part of his life she had become until now when she was part of it no longer. He hadn't felt this empty since the nights immediately after his turning. If there was no love, what was the use of it all? Easier to simply give himself to the monster...

Mike's car pulled up to the curb. Mick watched as he got out and rounded to the passenger side, opening the door for Beth. She emerged with obvious reluctance, and when she turned to look at the building, Mick pulled back a little.

"I just need to say good bye to some people. Then we'll go. I promise."

"All right, Mike," she said, hugging herself in a thick woolen coat that looked new. Her golden hair spread out across the scarf piled around her neck. Her voice was a shadow of its former self, resigned and desolate. The sound of it made Mick want to weep.

Mick listened for their steps coming down the outside hall and into the front office. "Hi Mike!" Coreen greeted. "Long time no see."

"Hello Coreen. Is she here?"

"She and everybody else. It's convention night around here."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." He introduced the two women and asked Beth to wait with Coreen. When he entered Vicki's office he paused a moment to scan the deep shadows before closing the door behind him.

Beth's voice drifted tentatively from the front office. "Are you human?"

"Ah…yes. Unfortunately."

"Oh, good."

Mick closed his eyes and wished a hole would open up beneath his feet and swallow him.

"Are you trying to conserve electricity or what?" said Mike.

Vicki clicked on the desk lamp. "Sorry."

Coming closer, he looked carefully at Vicki who peered back quizzically. Though all cleaned up, Mike still looked tired, and there was a haunted quality to his lean face. "You all right, Vic?"

She exchanged a look with Henry and nodded. "Never better."

"Good," he said on a heavy sigh. "At least one story ends happily forever after then."

"Beth?" Henry queried, indicating the door. "What happened?"

"She was brainwashed," said Mick, keeping his voice low and monotone. "Kept in close proximity to a cage full of ferals and forced to watch them feed at their worst."

"She also saw what we did to them," Vicki elaborated. "And me."

"What did she tell you today, Mike?"

"Well...not much. She's been asking everyone she meets if they're human. The doctor I took her to wanted to have her admitted for observation. I talked him into prescribing a sedative. She slept for a while, ate a little, cleaned up. I got her some new clothes." He paused. "The kid is a mess, Mick." What he didn't say—but what Mick clearly read in his expression—was that Beth might well never be right again. Years of therapy and sleep aids lay in her future.

"She doesn't know I'm here, does she."

Mike shook his head. "I tried talking to her about it, but...well... She expects me to take her home after this."

A new spike of pain shot through Mick. "Home?"

"LA. I guess I'll be flying with her. Does she have any family there I can contact?"

Mick's mind drew a deep, dark blank. All he truly knew was that Beth was leaving in ever more ways, that after a lifetime of watching over her, she was slipping through his fingers like wind.

Henry, who had been listening to all this in silence, materialized by his side. "There might be a way. With your permission?" Mick met the older vampire's compassionate gaze and felt himself drawn into the embrace of an immense spirit where time had no meaning. For once nothing about Henry Fitzroy was a mystery. And nothing seemed impossible in his presence. "I owe you, my friend. Let me try and help."

Mick nodded. Once. "How?" But Henry was already stepping into the front room. Mick bristled, torn between remaining rooted in place and following him to within an inch of his person.

"Oh my," Vicki breathed.

"What? What is he doing?"

Vicki put up a hand. "If he pulls this off it will be a miracle. As far as I know, it doesn't normally work that way."

Mike shook his head. "Leave it to Fitzroy to think he can. But a miracle is what this girl needs alright."

"Are you Beth?" they heard Henry inquire.

"Yes."

"I'm Henry Fitzroy. May I speak with you for a moment?"

"Are...are you human?"

"It doesn't matter," he said, the timber of his voice shifting subtly into deeper ranges, a sound that sent a shiver up Mick's spine. "Come with me. Listen to me. Listen only to me." A moment later she accompanied him, hand-in-hand, into Vicki's office, her wide blue eyes for him alone, her scarf trailing on the floor from her other hand. She sat with him on the couch, oblivious even to the odd spectacle of the casket in the room.

Mick crossed his arms and clamped a hand across his mouth to keep from calling out to her.

Henry touched Beth's face and looked into her eyes with his deep black gaze as though seeking her very soul. "Listen to me," he whispered again and leaned closer. What followed was a tale he wove from the disjointed fragments of her reality. Yes, she had been taken away and it had been hard. But she had been strong and brave. She had faith in those who loved her. She was strong for them and they were strong for her. He who loved her had come for her and saved her, and he would stand by her and keep her safe now and forever. She was safe now. It was over...

Henry told this story several times, deftly moving from generalities to specifics in each successive version, skillfully layering fiction upon truth and fact upon abstractions. Beth listened. She was stoic at first, but as the brutal edges of the things she had witnessed grew more indistinct in her memory, her face softened and her breath deepened unsteadily. Mick could hear her heart starting to race until, suddenly, she collapsed into Henry's arms and sobbed uncontrollably. He held her lightly, letting her pour out the pain and relief that had grown from the new version of truth congealing in her mind.

Mick trembled with the effort of remaining still and letting this play out on Beth's terms. He wanted to hold her. He needed to be there for her. But the look Henry gave him over her head warned him off. Not yet.

After an interminable stretch of time, her heart-breaking cries slowly faded into exhausted snivels. When she finally sat up, Henry handed her a tissue and brushed the hair out of her eyes with his fingers. "Feel better?"

She wiped at her nose, her smile watery. "I'm sorry. I don't usually break down in the arms of complete strangers."

"That's all right. I'm not really such a stranger."

"I'm just so...I'm so...relieved."

He smiled, clearly satisfied with the results of his efforts.

"Did you say you know Mick?"

"Yes."

"Where...where is he?" she asked with a touch of trepidation.

"I'm here," he said very quietly, taking two steps forward into the halo of the desk lamp. He watched her face intently, ready to vanish if need be, but none of the hysteria from the morning was in evidence. The joyful, vibrant young woman he knew wasn't there either, though he thought he saw traces of her hovering just beneath the surface of her being. She was still deeply affected by what had happened to her. Only the details were much less clear and the shock was gone.

She got up and came closer, her fingers wringing anxiously before her. "You came for me. You..." She stopped, swallowed. A frown gathered between her brows.

"Beth, you are my reason for living. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. I...love you." He hadn't uttered those words since he had been human. He hadn't ever felt them since—until now.

She smiled a little unsteadily. Her hand hesitated ever so slightly as she placed it on the side of his face. Mick covered it with his own, leaned into it. "I knew you would come," she said and, with a tremulous sigh, sank against him like a battered leaf washing up onto a rock. "Thank you."

Mick folded his arms around her with great care, savoring her warmth, her scent, her voice. If not for the fact that he wanted to inhale her, he would have ceased breathing for fear he might startle her. She sighed against him, content apparently to remain exactly where she was.

"I must say, Fitzroy. You've done good," murmured Mike.

Henry got up and straightened his coat. Vicki silently joined him and placed a tender kiss on his cheek. They smiled at each other. "I'm so glad you approve, Celluci."

"How long will this last?" asked Vicki.

"As long as it needs to for her to heal."

Mick stroked Beth's hair so gently he barely touched it. His entire being was keyed to her breathing, her heart, the heat of her body against his. He met Henry's eyes gratefully. "Thank you, friend," he mouthed. Henry nodded.

"Well," said Mike a little more loudly. "I think I should go...if Beth doesn't need me anymore?"

She stirred drowsily in Mick's arms and turned her head against his chest to look at him. "Thanks for being there today Mike. But I think I'll be OK now." Peering up at Mick, she added, "I'm exactly where I want to be." Mick dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. "Can we just stand here like this for a while do you think?"

"As long as you want." _Forever if it pleases you. _In her own fragile human way she was feeding from him, drinking in the strength she needed to recover, and Mick would gladly give her all she wanted, all he had.

"All right. In that case, I better go...tell someone that her city is hers again. Right?" This last he added with a meaningful look at Henry.

"Tell her we will be gone within three nights," said Henry. "But we will come see her before that to pay our respects."

"And raid her library?"

"That too," Henry admitted mischievously.

Mike nodded and, with one last, lingering look at Vicki, left.

"Am I going to like this Amara chick?" she asked dubiously.

"She has a wonderful story you should hear." Glancing at Mick, Henry held out his hand to her. "Let's go somewhere else and talk about all this, shall we?"

She looked at his hand for a moment before slipping her own into it. "Yes, I think we better."

On their way out, Vicki stopped to lift her jacked from the coat rack. "Mick?"

"Hmm?"

"About your bill...consider it paid."

He couldn't help smiling. He suspected that, should their paths cross a hundred years from now, she would still be able to surprise him. But watching them go, Mick wondered if he would, in fact, ever see either of them again.

A moment later they appeared on the street together beneath the window. "Henry, will you teach me to hunt?" he hared his firstborn ask bluntly. Rather than the disappointment he thought he might feel at this, there was only a quiet peace in the raw corners of his heart. She was being true to herself, nothing more. And at least she would learn from someone who knew what he was doing. She would make him proud, he was certain, regardless of what she did.

He caught Henry's infectious smile flash in the glare of a street lamp. "And here I feared you would prefer 'take out'."

"Eh...nah. Mick can keep that."

"In that case, Victoria, the night awaits." She hooked herself into his offered arm as they started walking down the street. "Of course there will be a price for all this vast experience I will be imparting to you."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Passion."

"How did I know you'd say that?"

"Because you know your bill is far overdue. Are these terms agreeable?"

"Overdue, am I? Well, I'll just have to think about that." The teasing smile in her fading voice was unmistakable.

Henry sounded mildly exasperated. "You're going to drive me just as mad now as you ever did before, aren't you?"

Her laughter came clear and joyful through the empty street. "Count on it, buster!"

THE END

* * *

_End Notes: As I have already shared with some of you in PM, I have no immediate plans to continue this story, although I can definitely see several different directions it could go. This little project that started as an innocent writing challenge handed to me by a dear friend serving time in Iraq, ended up getting me back into a creative spirit I haven't known in quite a while. I will be working on my own original stuff again and see where it goes. Another thing I want to do is start stocking up my new community here for vampire-themed romances. If you have suggestions, please let me know._

_Finally, in case you were wondering, the title was inspired by a piece of music of the same name by 8mm used on Moonlight. And, speaking of music, Mazzy Star's Into Dust is Beth's theme song as far as I am concerned, and quite possibly appropriate for every human-vampire romance ever imagined._

_Thank you all so much for your support and encouragement, even those who did not review or contact me. I know you are there by the hit counts, so I'm assuming that you must like something of what you read here._


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